Partners

WHEN Zarathustra was thirty years old, he left his home and the lakeof his home, and went into the mountains. There he enjoyed hisspirit and his solitude, and for ten years did not weary of it. But atlast his heart changed,- and rising one morning with the rosy dawn, hewent before the sun, and spake thus unto it: Thou great star! What would be thy happiness if thou hadst not thosefor whom thou shinest! For ten years hast thou climbed hither unto my cave: thou wouldsthave wearied of thy light and of the journey, had it not been forme, mine eagle, and my serpent. But we awaited thee every morning, took from thee thine overflow,and blessed thee for it. Lo! I am weary of my wisdom, like the bee that hath gathered toomuch honey; I need hands outstretched to take it. I would fain bestow and distribute, until the wise have once morebecome joyous in their folly, and the poor happy in their riches. Therefore must I descend into the deep: as thou doest in theevening, when thou goest behind the sea, and givest light also tothe nether-world, thou exuberant star! Like thee must I go down, as men say, to whom I shall descend. Bless me, then, thou tranquil eye, that canst behold even thegreatest happiness without envy! Bless the cup that is about to overflow, that the water may flowgolden out of it, and carry everywhere the reflection of thy bliss! Lo! This cup is again going to empty itself, and Zarathustra isagain going to be a man.

Thus began Zarathustra's down-going.

2.

Zarathustra went down the mountain alone, no one meeting him. Whenhe entered the forest, however, there suddenly stood before him an oldman, who had left his holy cot to seek roots. And thus spake the oldman to Zarathustra: "No stranger to me is this wanderer: many years ago passed he by.Zarathustra he was called; but he hath altered. Then thou carriedst thine ashes into the mountains: wilt thou nowcarry thy fire into the valleys? Fearest thou not the incendiary'sdoom? Yea, I recognize Zarathustra. Pure is his eye, and no loathinglurketh about his mouth. Goeth he not along like a dancer? Altered is Zarathustra; a child hath Zarathustra become; an awakenedone is Zarathustra: what wilt thou do in the land of the sleepers? As in the sea hast thou lived in solitude, and it hath borne theeup. Alas, wilt thou now go ashore? Alas, wilt thou again drag thy bodythyself?" Zarathustra answered: "I love mankind." "Why," said the saint, "did I go into the forest and the desert? Wasit not because I loved men far too well? Now I love God: men, I do not love. Man is a thing too imperfect forme. Love to man would be fatal to me." Zarathustra answered: "What spake I of love! I am bringing giftsunto men." "Give them nothing," said the saint. "Take rather part of theirload, and carry it along with them- that will be most agreeable untothem: if only it be agreeable unto thee! If, however, thou wilt give unto them, give them no more than analms, and let them also beg for it!" "No," replied Zarathustra, "I give no alms. I am not poor enough forthat." The saint laughed at Zarathustra, and spake thus: "Then see to itthat they accept thy treasures! They are distrustful of anchorites,and do not believe that we come with gifts. The fall of our footsteps ringeth too hollow through theirstreets. And just as at night, when they are in bed and hear a manabroad long before sunrise, so they ask themselves concerning us:Where goeth the thief? Go not to men, but stay in the forest! Go rather to the animals! Whynot be like me- a bear amongst bears, a bird amongst birds?" "And what doeth the saint in the forest?" asked Zarathustra. The saint answered: "I make hymns and sing them; and in making hymnsI laugh and weep and mumble: thus do I praise God. With singing, weeping, laughing, and mumbling do I praise the Godwho is my God. But what dost thou bring us as a gift?" When Zarathustra had heard these words, he bowed to the saint andsaid: "What should I have to give thee! Let me rather hurry hence lestI take aught away from thee!"- And thus they parted from oneanother, the old man and Zarathustra, laughing like schoolboys. When Zarathustra was alone, however, he said to his heart: "Could itbe possible! This old saint in the forest hath not yet heard of it,that God is dead!"

3.

When Zarathustra arrived at the nearest town which adjoineth theforest, he found many people assembled in the market-place; for it hadbeen announced that a rope-dancer would give a performance. AndZarathustra spake thus unto the people: I teach you the Superman. Man is something that is to besurpassed. What have ye done to surpass man? All beings hitherto have created something beyond themselves: and yewant to be the ebb of that great tide, and would rather go back to thebeast than surpass man? What is the ape to man? A laughing-stock, a thing of shame. And justthe same shall man be to the Superman: a laughing-stock, a thing ofshame. Ye have made your way from the worm to man, and much within you isstill worm. Once were ye apes, and even yet man is more of an ape thanany of the apes. Even the wisest among you is only a disharmony and hybrid of plantand phantom. But do I bid you become phantoms or plants? Lo, I teach you the Superman! The Superman is the meaning of the earth. Let your will say: TheSuperman shall he the meaning of the earth! I conjure you, my brethren, remain true to the earth, and believenot those who speak unto you of superearthly hopes! Poisoners arethey, whether they know it or not. Despisers of life are they, decaying ones and poisoned onesthemselves, of whom the earth is weary: so away with them! Once blasphemy against God was the greatest blasphemy; but God died,and therewith also those blasphemers. To blaspheme the earth is nowthe dreadfulest sin, and to rate the heart of the unknowable higherthan the meaning of the earth! Once the soul looked contemptuously on the body, and then thatcontempt was the supreme thing:- the soul wished the body meagre,ghastly, and famished. Thus it thought to escape from the body and theearth. Oh, that soul was itself meagre, ghastly, and famished; andcruelty was the delight of that soul! But ye, also, my brethren, tell me: What doth your body say aboutyour soul? Is your soul not poverty and pollution and wretchedself-complacency? Verily, a polluted stream is man. One must be a sea, to receive apolluted stream without becoming impure. Lo, I teach you the Superman: he is that sea; in him can yourgreat contempt be submerged. What is the greatest thing ye can experience? It is the hour ofgreat contempt. The hour in which even your happiness becomethloathsome unto you, and so also your reason and virtue. The hour when ye say: "What good is my happiness! It is povertyand pollution and wretched self-complacency. But my happiness shouldjustify existence itself!" The hour when ye say: "What good is my reason! Doth it long forknowledge as the lion for his food? It is poverty and pollution andwretched self-complacency!" The hour when ye say: "What good is my virtue! As yet it hath notmade me passionate. How weary I am of my good and my bad! It is allpoverty and pollution and wretched self-complacency!" The hour when ye say: "What good is my justice! I do not see thatI am fervour and fuel. The just, however, are fervour and fuel!" The hour when we say: "What good is my pity! Is not pity the crosson which he is nailed who loveth man? But my pity is not acrucifixion." Have ye ever spoken thus? Have ye ever cried thus? Ah! would thatI had heard you crying thus! It is not your sin- it is your self-satisfaction that crieth untoheaven; your very sparingness in sin crieth unto heaven! Where is the lightning to lick you with its tongue? Where is thefrenzy with which ye should be inoculated? Lo, I teach you the Superman: he is that lightning, he is thatfrenzy!- When Zarathustra had thus spoken, one of the people called out:"We have now heard enough of the rope-dancer; it is time now for usto. see him!" And all the people laughed at Zarathustra. But therope-dancer, who thought the words applied to him, began hisperformance.

4.

Zarathustra, however, looked at the people and wondered. Then hespake thus: Man is a rope stretched between the animal and the Superman- arope over an abyss. A dangerous crossing, a dangerous wayfaring, a dangerouslooking-back, a dangerous trembling and halting. What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not a goal: whatis lovable in man is that he is an over-going and a down-going. I love those that know not how to live except as down-goers, forthey are the over-goers. I love the great despisers, because they are the great adorers,and arrows of longing for the other shore. I love those who do not first seek a reason beyond the stars forgoing down and being sacrifices, but sacrifice themselves to theearth, that the earth of the Superman may hereafter arrive. I love him who liveth in order to know, and seeketh to know in orderthat the Superman may hereafter live. Thus seeketh he his owndown-going. I love him who laboureth and inventeth, that he may build thehouse for the Superman, and prepare for him earth, animal, andplant: for thus seeketh he his own down-going. I love him who loveth his virtue: for virtue is the will todown-going, and an arrow of longing. I love him who reserveth no share of spirit for himself, but wantethto be wholly the spirit of his virtue: thus walketh he as spiritover the bridge. I love him who maketh his virtue his inclination and destiny:thus, for the sake of his virtue, he is willing to live on, or live nomore. I love him who desireth not too many virtues. One virtue is moreof a virtue than two, because it is more of a knot for one's destinyto cling to. I love him whose soul is lavish, who wanteth no thanks and dothnot give back: for he always bestoweth, and desireth not to keep forhimself. I love him who is ashamed when the dice fall in his favour, andwho then asketh: "Am I a dishonest player?"- for he is willing tosuccumb. I love him who scattereth golden words in advance of his deeds,and always doeth more than he promiseth: for he seeketh his owndown-going. I love him who justifieth the future ones, and redeemeth the pastones: for he is willing to succumb through the present ones. I love him who chasteneth his God, because he loveth his God: for hemust succumb through the wrath of his God. I love him whose soul is deep even in the wounding, and maysuccumb through a small matter: thus goeth he willingly over thebridge. I love him whose soul is so overfull that he forgetteth himself, andall things are in him: thus all things become his down-going. I love him who is of a free spirit and a free heart: thus is hishead only the bowels of his heart; his heart, however, causeth hisdown-going. I love all who are like heavy drops falling one by one out of thedark cloud that lowereth over man: they herald the coming of thelightning, and succumb as heralds. Lo, I am a herald of the lightning, and a heavy drop out of thecloud: the lightning, however, is the Superman.-

5.

When Zarathustra had spoken these words, he again looked at thepeople, and was silent. "There they stand," said he to his heart;"there they laugh: they understand me not; I am not the mouth forthese ears. Must one first batter their ears, that they may learn to hear withtheir eyes? Must one clatter like kettledrums and penitentialpreachers? Or do they only believe the stammerer? They have something whereof they are proud. What do they call it,that which maketh them proud? Culture, they call it; it distinguisheththem from the goatherds. They dislike, therefore, to hear of 'contempt' of themselves. So Iwill appeal to their pride. I will speak unto them of the most contemptible thing: that,however, is the last man!" And thus spake Zarathustra unto the people: It is time for man to fix his goal. It is time for man to plantthe germ of his highest hope. Still is his soil rich enough for it. But that soil will one daybe poor and exhausted, and no lofty tree will any longer be able togrow thereon. Alas! there cometh the time when man will no longer launch the arrowof his longing beyond man- and the string of his bow will haveunlearned to whizz! I tell you: one must still have chaos in one, to give birth to adancing star. I tell you: ye have still chaos in you. Alas! There cometh the time when man will no longer give birth toany star. Alas! There cometh the time of the most despicable man,who can no longer despise himself. Lo! I show you the last man. "What is love? What is creation? What is longing? What is astar?"- so asketh the last man and blinketh. The earth hath then become small, and on it there hoppeth the lastman who maketh everything small. His species is ineradicable like thatof the ground-flea; the last man liveth longest. "We have discovered happiness"- say the last men, and blink thereby. They have left the regions where it is hard to live; for they needwarmth. One still loveth one's neighbour and rubbeth against him;for one needeth warmth. Turning ill and being distrustful, they consider sinful: they walkwarily. He is a fool who still stumbleth over stones or men! A little poison now and then: that maketh pleasant dreams. Andmuch poison at last for a pleasant death. One still worketh, for work is a pastime. But one is careful lestthe pastime should hurt one. One no longer becometh poor or rich; both are too burdensome. Whostill wanteth to rule? Who still wanteth to obey? Both are tooburdensome. No shepherd, and one herd! Everyone wanteth the same; everyone isequal: he who hath other sentiments goeth voluntarily into themadhouse. "Formerly all the world was insane,"- say the subtlest of them,and blink thereby. They are clever and know all that hath happened: so there is noend to their raillery. People still fall out, but are soon reconciled-otherwise it spoileth their stomachs. They have their little pleasures for the day, and their littlepleasures for the night, but they have a regard for health. "We have discovered happiness,"- say the last men, and blinkthereby.- And here ended the first discourse of Zarathustra, which is alsocalled "The Prologue", for at this point the shouting and mirth of themultitude interrupted him. "Give us this last man, O Zarathustra,"-they called out- "make us into these last men! Then will we makethee a present of the Superman!" And all the people exulted andsmacked their lips. Zarathustra, however, turned sad, and said tohis heart: "They understand me not: I am not the mouth for these ears. Too long, perhaps, have I lived in the mountains; too much have Ihearkened unto the brooks and trees: now do I speak unto them asunto the goatherds. Calm is my soul, and clear, like the mountains in the morning. Butthey think me cold, and a mocker with terrible jests. And now do they look at me and laugh: and while they laugh they hateme too. There is ice in their laughter."

6.

Then, however, something happened which made every mouth mute andevery eye fixed. In the meantime, of course, the rope-dancer hadcommenced his performance: he had come out at a little door, and wasgoing along the rope which was stretched between two towers, so thatit hung above the market-place and the people. When he was just midwayacross, the little door opened once more, and a gaudily-dressed fellowlike a buffoon sprang out, and went rapidly after the first one. "Goon, halt-foot," cried his frightful voice, "go on, lazy-bones,interloper, sallow-face!- lest I tickle thee with my heel! What dostthou here between the towers? In the tower is the place for thee, thoushouldst be locked up; to one better than thyself thou blockest theway!"- And with every word he came nearer and nearer the first one.When, however, he was but a step behind, there happened thefrightful thing which made every mouth mute and every eye fixed- heuttered a yell like a devil, and jumped over the other who was inhis way. The latter, however, when he thus saw his rival triumph, lostat the same time his head and his footing on the rope; he threw hispole away, and shot downward faster than it, like an eddy of armsand legs, into the depth. The market-place and the people were likethe sea when the storm cometh on: they all flew apart and in disorder,especially where the body was about to fall. Zarathustra, however, remained standing, and just beside him fellthe body, badly injured and disfigured, but not yet dead. After awhile consciousness returned to the shattered man, and he sawZarathustra kneeling beside him. "What art thou doing there?" saidhe at last, "I knew long ago that the devil would trip me up. Now hedraggeth me to hell: wilt thou prevent him?" "On mine honour, my friend," answered Zarathustra, "there is nothingof all that whereof thou speakest: there is no devil and no hell.Thy soul will be dead even sooner than thy body; fear, therefore,nothing any more!" The man looked up distrustfully. "If thou speakest the truth,"said he, "I lose nothing when I lose my life. I am not much morethan an animal which hath been taught to dance by blows and scantyfare." "Not at all," said Zarathustra, "thou hast made danger thycalling; therein there is nothing contemptible. Now thou perishestby thy calling: therefore will I bury thee with mine own hands." When Zarathustra had said this the dying one did not replyfurther; but he moved his hand as if he sought the hand of Zarathustrain gratitude.

7.

Meanwhile the evening came on, and the market-place veiled itself ingloom. Then the people dispersed, for even curiosity and terror becomefatigued. Zarathustra, however, still sat beside the dead man on theground, absorbed in thought: so he forgot the time. But at last itbecame night, and a cold wind blew upon the lonely one. Then aroseZarathustra and said to his heart: Verily, a fine catch of fish hath Zarathustra made to-day! It is nota man he hath caught, but a corpse. Sombre is human life, and as yet without meaning: a buffoon may befateful to it. I want to teach men the sense of their existence, which is theSuperman, the lightning out of the dark cloud- man. But still am I far from them, and my sense speaketh not unto theirsense. To men I am still something between a fool and a corpse. Gloomy is the night, gloomy are the ways of Zarathustra. Come,thou cold and stiff companion! I carry thee to the place where I shallbury thee with mine own hands.

8.

When Zarathustra had said this to his heart, he put the corpseupon his shoulders and set out on his way. Yet had he not gone ahundred steps, when there stole a man up to him and whispered in hisear- and lo! he that spake was the buffoon from the tower. "Leave thistown, O Zarathustra," said he, "there are too many here who hate thee.The good and just hate thee, and call thee their enemy and despiser;the believers in the orthodox belief hate thee, and call thee a dangerto the multitude. It was thy good fortune to be laughed at: and verilythou spakest like a buffoon. It was thy good fortune to associate withthe dead dog; by so humiliating thyself thou hast saved thy lifeto-day. Depart, however, from this town,- or tomorrow I shall jumpover thee, a living man over a dead one." And when he had said this,the buffoon vanished; Zarathustra, however, went on through the darkstreets. At the gate of the town the grave-diggers met him: they shonetheir torch on his face, and, recognising Zarathustra, they sorelyderided him. "Zarathustra is carrying away the dead dog: a finething that Zarathustra hath turned a grave-digger! For our hands aretoo cleanly for that roast. Will Zarathustra steal the bite from thedevil? Well then, good luck to the repast! If only the devil is nota better thief than Zarathustra!- he will steal them both, he will eatthem both!" And they laughed among themselves, and put their headstogether. Zarathustra made no answer thereto, but went on his way. When he hadgone on for two hours, past forests and swamps, he had heard toomuch of the hungry howling of the wolves, and he himself becamehungry. So he halted at a lonely house in which a light was burning. "Hunger attacketh me," said Zarathustra, "like a robber. Amongforests and swamps my hunger attacketh me, and late in the night. "Strange humours hath my hunger. Often it cometh to me only aftera repast, and all day it hath failed to come: where hath it been?" And thereupon Zarathustra knocked at the door of the house. An oldman appeared, who carried a light, and asked: "Who cometh unto meand my bad sleep?" "A living man and a dead one," said Zarathustra. "Give mesomething to eat and drink, I forgot it during the day. He thatfeedeth the hungry refresheth his own soul, saith wisdom." The old man withdrew, but came back immediately and offeredZarathustra bread and wine. "A bad country for the hungry," said he;"that is why I live here. Animal and man come unto me, theanchorite. But bid thy companion eat and drink also, he is wearierthan thou." Zarathustra answered: "My companion is dead; I shallhardly be able to persuade him to eat." "That doth not concern me,"said the old man sullenly; "he that knocketh at my door must take whatI offer him. Eat, and fare ye well!"- Thereafter Zarathustra again went on for two hours, trusting tothe path and the light of the stars: for he was an experiencednight-walker, and liked to look into the face of all that slept.When the morning dawned, however, Zarathustra found himself in a thickforest, and no path was any longer visible. He then put the dead manin a hollow tree at his head- for he wanted to protect him from thewolves- and laid himself down on the ground and moss. Andimmediately he fell asleep, tired in body, but with a tranquil soul.

9.

Long slept Zarathustra; and not only the rosy dawn passed over hishead, but also the morning. At last, however, his eyes opened, andamazedly he gazed into the forest and the stillness, amazedly he gazedinto himself. Then he arose quickly, like a seafarer who all at onceseeth the land; and he shouted for joy: for he saw a new truth. And hespake thus to his heart: A light hath dawned upon me: I need companions- living ones; notdead companions and corpses, which I carry with me where I will. But I need living companions, who will follow me because they wantto follow themselves- and to the place where I will. A light hathdawned upon me. Not to the people is Zarathustra to speak, but tocompanions! Zarathustra shall not be the herd's herdsman and hound! To allure many from the herd- for that purpose have I come. Thepeople and the herd must be angry with me: a robber shallZarathustra be called by the herdsmen. Herdsmen, I say, but they call themselves the good and just.Herdsmen, I say, but they call themselves the believers in theorthodox belief. Behold the good and just! Whom do they hate most? Him who breakethup their tables of values, the breaker, the lawbreaker:- he,however, is the creator. Behold the believers of all beliefs! Whom do they hate most? Him whobreaketh up their tables of values, the breaker, the law-breaker-he, however, is the creator. Companions, the creator seeketh, not corpses- and not herds orbelievers either. Fellow-creators the creator seeketh- those who gravenew values on new tables. Companions, the creator seeketh, and fellow-reapers: foreverything is ripe for the harvest with him. But he lacketh thehundred sickles: so he plucketh the ears of corn and is vexed. Companions, the creator seeketh, and such as know how to whettheir sickles. Destroyers, will they be called, and despisers ofgood and evil. But they are the reapers and rejoicers. Fellow-creators, Zarathustra seeketh; fellow-reapers andfellow-rejoicers, Zarathustra seeketh: what hath he to do with herdsand herdsmen and corpses! And thou, my first companion, rest in peace! Well have I buried theein thy hollow tree; well have I hid thee from the wolves. But I part from thee; the time hath arrived. 'Twixt rosy dawn androsy dawn there came unto me a new truth. I am not to be a herdsman, I am not to be a grave-digger. Not anymore will I discourse unto the people; for the last time have I spokenunto the dead. With the creators, the reapers, and the rejoicers will Iassociate: the rainbow will I show them, and all the stairs to theSuperman. To the lone-dwellers will I sing my song, and to the twain-dwellers;and unto him who hath still ears for the unheard, will I make theheart heavy with my happiness. I make for my goal, I follow my course; over the loitering and tardywill I leap. Thus let my on-going be their down-going!

10.

This had Zarathustra said to his heart when the sun stood atnoon-tide. Then he looked inquiringly aloft,- for he heard above himthe sharp call of a bird. And behold! An eagle swept through the airin wide circles, and on it hung a serpent, not like a prey, but like afriend: for it kept itself coiled round the eagle's neck. "They are mine animals," said Zarathustra, and rejoiced in hisheart. "The proudest animal under the sun, and the wisest animal underthe sun,- they have come out to reconnoitre. They want to know whether Zarathustra still liveth. Verily, do Istill live? More dangerous have I found it among men than among animals; indangerous paths goeth Zarathustra. Let mine animals lead me! When Zarathustra had said this, he remembered the words of the saintin the forest. Then he sighed and spake thus to his heart: "Would that I were wiser! Would that I were wise from the veryheart, like my serpent! But I am asking the impossible. Therefore do I ask my pride to goalways with my wisdom! And if my wisdom should some day forsake me:- alas! it loveth to flyaway!- may my pride then fly with my folly!"

Thus began Zarathustra's down-going. FIRST PART.

1. The Three Metamorphoses

THREE metamorphoses of the spirit do I designate to you: how thespirit becometh a camel, the camel a lion, and the lion at last achild. Many heavy things are there for the spirit, the strongload-bearing spirit in which reverence dwelleth: for the heavy and theheaviest longeth its strength. What is heavy? so asketh the load-bearing spirit; then kneeleth itdown like the camel, and wanteth to be well laden. What is the heaviest thing, ye heroes? asketh the load-bearingspirit, that I may take it upon me and rejoice in my strength. Is it not this: To humiliate oneself in order to mortify one'spride? To exhibit one's folly in order to mock at one's wisdom? Or is it this: To desert our cause when it celebrateth itstriumph? To ascend high mountains to tempt the tempter? Or is it this: To feed on the acorns and grass of knowledge, and forthe sake of truth to suffer hunger of soul? Or is it this: To be sick and dismiss comforters, and make friendsof the deaf, who never hear thy requests? Or is it this: To go into foul water when it is the water oftruth, and not disclaim cold frogs and hot toads? Or is it this: To love those who despise us, and give one's handto the phantom when it is going to frighten us? All these heaviest things the load-bearing spirit taketh uponitself: and like the camel, which, when laden, hasteneth into thewilderness, so hasteneth the spirit into its wilderness. But in the loneliest wilderness happeneth the secondmetamorphosis: here the spirit becometh a lion; freedom will itcapture, and lordship in its own wilderness. Its last Lord it here seeketh: hostile will it be to him, and to itslast God; for victory will it struggle with the great dragon. What is the great dragon which the spirit is no longer inclined tocall Lord and God? "Thou-shalt," is the great dragon called. But thespirit of the lion saith, "I will." "Thou-shalt," lieth in its path, sparkling with gold- ascale-covered beast; and on every scale glittereth golden, "Thoushalt!" The values of a thousand years glitter on those scales, and thusspeaketh the mightiest of all dragons: "All the values of things-glitter on me. All values have already been created, and all created values- do Irepresent. Verily, there shall be no 'I will' any more. Thusspeaketh the dragon. My brethren, wherefore is there need of the lion in the spirit?Why sufficeth not the beast of burden, which renounceth and isreverent? To create new values- that, even the lion cannot yet accomplish: butto create itself freedom for new creating- that can the might of thelion do. To create itself freedom, and give a holy Nay even unto duty: forthat, my brethren, there is need of the lion. To assume the ride to new values- that is the most formidableassumption for a load-bearing and reverent spirit. Verily, unto such aspirit it is preying, and the work of a beast of prey. As its holiest, it once loved "Thou-shalt": now is it forced to findillusion and arbitrariness even in the holiest things, that it maycapture freedom from its love: the lion is needed for this capture. But tell me, my brethren, what the child can do, which even the lioncould not do? Why hath the preying lion still to become a child? Innocence is the child, and forgetfulness, a new beginning, agame, a self-rolling wheel, a first movement, a holy Yea. Aye, for the game of creating, my brethren, there is needed a holyYea unto life: its own will, willeth now the spirit; his own worldwinneth the world's outcast. Three metamorphoses of the spirit have I designated to you: howthe spirit became a camel, the camel a lion, and the lion at last achild.-

Thus spake Zarathustra. And at that time he abode in the townwhich is called The Pied Cow. 2. The Academic Chairs of Virtue

PEOPLE commended unto Zarathustra a wise man, as one who coulddiscourse well about sleep and virtue: greatly was he honoured andrewarded for it, and all the youths sat before his chair. To himwent Zarathustra, and sat among the youths before his chair. Andthus spake the wise man: Respect and modesty in presence of sleep! That is the first thing!And to go out of the way of all who sleep badly and keep awake atnight! Modest is even the thief in presence of sleep: he always stealethsoftly through the night. Immodest, however, is the night-watchman;immodestly he carrieth his horn. No small art is it to sleep: it is necessary for that purpose tokeep awake all day. Ten times a day must thou overcome thyself: that causeth wholesomeweariness, and is poppy to the soul. Ten times must thou reconcile again with thyself; for overcomingis bitterness, and badly sleep the unreconciled. Ten truths must thou find during the day; otherwise wilt thou seektruth during the night, and thy soul will have been hungry. Ten times must thou laugh during the day, and be cheerful; otherwisethy stomach, the father of affliction, will disturb thee in the night. Few people know it, but one must have all the virtues in order tosleep well. Shall I bear false witness? Shall I commit adultery? Shall I covet my neighbour's maidservant? All that would illaccord with good sleep. And even if one have all the virtues, there is still one thingneedful: to send the virtues themselves to sleep at the right time. That they may not quarrel with one another, the good females! Andabout thee, thou unhappy one! Peace with God and thy neighbour: so desireth good sleep. Andpeace also with thy neighbour's devil! Otherwise it will haunt thee inthe night. Honour to the government, and obedience, and also to the crookedgovernment! So desireth good sleep. How can I help it, if power likethto walk on crooked legs? He who leadeth his sheep to the greenest pasture, shall always befor me the best shepherd: so doth it accord with good sleep. Many honours I want not, nor great treasures: they excite thespleen. But it is bad sleeping without a good name and a littletreasure. A small company is more welcome to me than a bad one: but theymust come and go at the right time. So doth it accord with good sleep. Well, also, do the poor in spirit please me: they promote sleep.Blessed are they, especially if one always give in to them. Thus passeth the day unto the virtuous. When night cometh, then takeI good care not to summon sleep. It disliketh to be summoned- sleep,the lord of the virtues! But I think of what I have done and thought during the day. Thusruminating, patient as a cow, I ask myself: What were thy tenovercomings? And what were the ten reconciliations, and the ten truths, and theten laughters with which my heart enjoyed itself? Thus pondering, and cradled by forty thoughts, it overtaketh meall at once- sleep, the unsummoned, the lord of the virtues. Sleep tappeth on mine eye, and it turneth heavy. Sleep toucheth mymouth, and it remaineth open. Verily, on soft soles doth it come to me, the dearest of thieves,and stealeth from me my thoughts: stupid do I then stand, like thisacademic chair. But not much longer do I then stand: I already lie.- When Zarathustra heard the wise man thus speak, he laughed in hisheart: for thereby had a light dawned upon him. And thus spake he tohis heart: A fool seemeth this wise man with his forty thoughts: but Ibelieve he knoweth well how to sleep. Happy even is he who liveth near this wise man! Such sleep iscontagious- even through a thick wall it is contagious. A magic resideth even in his academic chair. And not in vain did theyouths sit before the preacher of virtue. His wisdom is to keep awake in order to sleep well. And verily, iflife had no sense, and had I to choose nonsense, this would be thedesirablest nonsense for me also. Now know I well what people sought formerly above all else when theysought teachers of virtue. Good sleep they sought for themselves,and poppy-head virtues to promote it! To all those belauded sages of the academic chairs, wisdom was sleepwithout dreams: they knew no higher significance of life. Even at present, to be sure, there are some like this preacher ofvirtue, and not always so honourable: but their time is past. Andnot much longer do they stand: there they already lie. Blessed are those drowsy ones: for they shall soon nod to sleep.-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 3. Backworldsmen

ONCE on a time, Zarathustra also cast his fancy beyond man, like allbackworldsmen. The work of a suffering and tortured God, did the worldthen seem to me. The dream- and diction- of a God, did the world then seem to me;coloured vapours before the eyes of a divinely dissatisfied one. Good and evil, and joy and woe, and I and thou- coloured vapours didthey seem to me before creative eyes. The creator wished to lookaway from himself,- thereupon he created the world. Intoxicating joy is it for the sufferer to look away from hissuffering and forget himself. Intoxicating joy and self-forgetting,did the world once seem to me. This world, the eternally imperfect, an eternal contradiction'simage and imperfect image- an intoxicating joy to its imperfectcreator:- thus did the world once seem to me. Thus, once on a time, did I also cast my fancy beyond man, likeall backworldsmen. Beyond man, forsooth? Ah, ye brethren, that God whom I created was human work and humanmadness, like all the gods! A man was he, and only a poor fragment of a man and ego. Out of mineown ashes and glow it came unto me, that phantom. And verily, itcame not unto me from the beyond! What happened, my brethren? I surpassed myself, the suffering one; Icarried mine own ashes to the mountain; a brighter flame I contrivedfor myself. And lo! Thereupon the phantom withdrew from me! To me the convalescent would it now be suffering and torment tobelieve in such phantoms: suffering would it now be to me, andhumiliation. Thus speak I to backworldsmen. Suffering was it, and impotence- that created all backworlds; andthe short madness of happiness, which only the greatest suffererexperienceth. Weariness, which seeketh to get to the ultimate with one leap,with a death-leap; a poor ignorant weariness, unwilling even to willany longer: that created all gods and backworlds. Believe me, my brethren! It was the body which despaired of thebody- it groped with the fingers of the infatuated spirit at theultimate walls. Believe me, my brethren! It was the body which despaired of theearth- it heard the bowels of existence speaking unto it. And then it sought to get through the ultimate walls with itshead- and not with its head only- into "the other world." But that "other world" is well concealed from man, that dehumanised,inhuman world, which is a celestial naught; and the bowels ofexistence do not speak unto man, except as man. Verily, it is difficult to prove all being, and hard to make itspeak. Tell me, ye brethren, is not the strangest of all things bestproved? Yea, this ego, with its contradiction and perplexity, speakethmost uprightly of its being- this creating, willing, evaluing ego,which is the measure and value of things. And this most upright existence, the ego- it speaketh of the body,and still implieth the body, even when it museth and raveth andfluttereth with broken wings. Always more uprightly learneth it to speak, the ego; and the more itlearneth, the more doth it find titles, and honours for the body andthe earth. A new pride taught me mine ego, and that teach I unto men: no longerto thrust one's head into the sand of celestial things, but to carryit freely, a terrestrial head, which giveth meaning to the earth! A new will teach I unto men: to choose that path which man hathfollowed blindly, and to approve of it- and no longer to slink asidefrom it, like the sick and perishing! The sick and perishing- it was they who despised the body and theearth, and invented the heavenly world, and the redeeming blood-drops;but even those sweet and sad poisons they borrowed from the body andthe earth! From their misery they sought escape, and the stars were tooremote for them. Then they sighed: "O that there were heavenly pathsby which to steal into another existence and into happiness!" Thenthey contrived for themselves their bypaths and bloody draughts! Beyond the sphere of their body and this earth they now fanciedthemselves transported, these ungrateful ones. But to what did theyowe the convulsion and rapture of their transport? To their body andthis earth. Gentle is Zarathustra to the sickly. Verily, he is not indignantat their modes of consolation and ingratitude. May they becomeconvalescents and overcomers, and create higher bodies for themselves! Neither is Zarathustra indignant at a convalescent who lookethtenderly on his delusions, and at midnight stealeth round the grave ofhis God; but sickness and a sick frame remain even in his tears. Many sickly ones have there always been among those who muse, andlanguish for God; violently they hate the discerning ones, and thelatest of virtues, which is uprightness. Backward they always gaze toward dark ages: then, indeed, weredelusion and faith something different. Raving of the reason waslikeness to God, and doubt was sin. Too well do I know those godlike ones: they insist on being believedin, and that doubt is sin. Too well, also, do I know what theythemselves most believe in. Verily, not in backworlds and redeeming blood-drops: but in the bodydo they also believe most; and their own body is for them thething-in-itself. But it is a sickly thing to them, and gladly would they get out oftheir skin. Therefore hearken they to the preachers of death, andthemselves preach backworlds. Hearken rather, my brethren, to the voice of the healthy body; it isa more upright and pure voice. More uprightly and purely speaketh the healthy body, perfect andsquare-built; and it speaketh of the meaning of the earth.-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 4. The Despisers of the Body

TO THE despisers of the body will I speak my word. I wish themneither to learn afresh, nor teach anew, but only to bid farewell totheir own bodies,- and thus be dumb. "Body am I, and soul"- so saith the child. And why should one notspeak like children? But the awakened one, the knowing one, saith: "Body am I entirely,and nothing more; and soul is only the name of something in the body." The body is a big sagacity, a plurality with one sense, a war anda peace, a flock and a shepherd. An instrument of thy body is also thy little sagacity, my brother,which thou callest "spirit"- a little instrument and plaything ofthy big sagacity. "Ego," sayest thou, and art proud of that word. But the greaterthing- in which thou art unwilling to believe- is thy body with itsbig sagacity; it saith not "ego," but doeth it. What the sense feeleth, what the spirit discerneth, hath never itsend in itself. But sense and spirit would fain persuade thee that theyare the end of all things: so vain are they. Instruments and playthings are sense and spirit: behind them thereis still the Self. The Self seeketh with the eyes of the senses, ithearkeneth also with the ears of the spirit. Ever hearkeneth the Self, and seeketh; it compareth, mastereth,conquereth, and destroyeth. It ruleth, and is also the ego's ruler. Behind thy thoughts and feelings, my brother, there is a mightylord, an unknown sage- it is called Self; it dwelleth in thy body,it is thy body. There is more sagacity in thy body than in thy best wisdom. Andwho then knoweth why thy body requireth just thy best wisdom? Thy Self laugheth at thine ego, and its proud prancings. "What arethese prancings and flights of thought unto me?" it saith to itself."A by-way to my purpose. I am the leading-string of the ego, and theprompter of its notions." The Self saith unto the ego: "Feel pain!" And thereupon itsuffereth, and thinketh how it may put an end thereto- and for thatvery purpose it is meant to think. The Self saith unto the ego: "Feel pleasure!" Thereupon itrejoiceth, and thinketh how it may ofttimes rejoice- and for that verypurpose it is meant to think. To the despisers of the body will I speak a word. That theydespise is caused by their esteem. What is it that created esteemingand despising and worth and will? The creating Self created for itself esteeming and despising, itcreated for itself joy and woe. The creating body created for itselfspirit, as a hand to its will. Even in your folly and despising ye each serve your Self, yedespisers of the body. I tell you, your very Self wanteth to die,and turneth away from life. No longer can your Self do that which it desireth most:- createbeyond itself. That is what it desireth most; that is all its fervour. But it is now too late to do so:- so your Self wisheth to succumb,ye despisers of the body. To succumb- so wisheth your Self; and therefore have ye becomedespisers of the body. For ye can no longer create beyond yourselves. And therefore are ye now angry with life and with the earth. Andunconscious envy is in the sidelong look of your contempt. I go not your way, ye despisers of the body! Ye are no bridges forme to the Superman!-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 5. Joys and Passions

MY BROTHER, when thou hast a virtue, and it is thine own virtue,thou hast it in common with no one. To be sure, thou wouldst call it by name and caress it; thou wouldstpull its ears and amuse thyself with it. And lo! Then hast thou its name in common with the people, andhast become one of the people and the herd with thy virtue! Better for thee to say: "Ineffable is it, and nameless, that whichis pain and sweetness to my soul, and also the hunger of my bowels." Let thy virtue be too high for the familiarity of names, and if thoumust speak of it, be not ashamed to stammer about it. Thus speak and stammer: "That is my good, that do I love, thusdoth it please me entirely, thus only do I desire the good. Not as the law of a God do I desire it, not as a human law or ahuman need do I desire it; it is not to be a guide-post for me tosuperearths and paradises. An earthly virtue is it which I love: little prudence is therein,and the least everyday wisdom. But that bird built its nest beside me: therefore, I love andcherish it- now sitteth it beside me on its golden eggs." Thus shouldst thou stammer, and praise thy virtue. Once hadst thou passions and calledst them evil. But now hast thouonly thy virtues: they grew out of thy passions. Thou implantedst thy highest aim into the heart of those passions:then became they thy virtues and joys. And though thou wert of the race of the hot-tempered, or of thevoluptuous, or of the fanatical, or the vindictive; All thy passions in the end became virtues, and all thy devilsangels. Once hadst thou wild dogs in thy cellar: but they changed at lastinto birds and charming songstresses. Out of thy poisons brewedst thou balsam for thyself; thy cow,affliction, milkedst thou- now drinketh thou the sweet milk of herudder. And nothing evil groweth in thee any longer, unless it be the evilthat groweth out of the conflict of thy virtues. My brother, if thou be fortunate, then wilt thou have one virtue andno more: thus goest thou easier over the bridge. Illustrious is it to have many virtues, but a hard lot; and many aone hath gone into the wilderness and killed himself, because he wasweary of being the battle and battlefield of virtues. My brother, are war and battle evil? Necessary, however, is theevil; necessary are the envy and the distrust and the back-bitingamong the virtues. Lo! how each of thy virtues is covetous of the highest place; itwanteth thy whole spirit to be its herald, it wanteth thy whole power,in wrath, hatred, and love. Jealous is every virtue of the others, and a dreadful thing isjealousy. Even virtues may succumb by jealousy. He whom the flame of jealousy encompasseth, turneth at last, likethe scorpion, the poisoned sting against himself. Ah! my brother, hast thou never seen a virtue backbite and stabitself? Man is something that hath to be surpassed: and therefore shalt thoulove thy virtues,- for thou wilt succumb by them.- Thus spake Zarathustra. 6. The Pale Criminal

YE DO not mean to slay, ye judges and sacrificers, until theanimal hath bowed its head? Lo! the pale criminal hath bowed his head:out of his eye speaketh the great contempt. "Mine ego is something which is to be surpassed: mine ego is to methe great contempt of man": so speaketh it out of that eye. When he judged himself- that was his supreme moment; let not theexalted one relapse again into his low estate! There is no salvation for him who thus suffereth from himself,unless it be speedy death. Your slaying, ye judges, shall be pity, and not revenge; and in thatye slay, see to it that ye yourselves justify life! It is not enough that ye should reconcile with him whom ye slay. Letyour sorrow be love to the Superman: thus will ye justify your ownsurvival! "Enemy" shall ye say but not "villain," "invalid" shall ye say butnot "wretch," "fool" shall ye say but not "sinner." And thou, red judge, if thou would say audibly all thou hast done inthought, then would every one cry: "Away with the nastiness and thevirulent reptile!" But one thing is the thought, another thing is the deed, and anotherthing is the idea of the deed. The wheel of causality doth not rollbetween them. An idea made this pale man pale. Adequate was he for his deed whenhe did it, but the idea of it, he could not endure when it was done. Evermore did he now see himself as the doer of one deed. Madness,I call this: the exception reversed itself to the rule in him. The streak of chalk bewitcheth the hen; the stroke he struckbewitched his weak reason. Madness after the deed, I call this. Hearken, ye judges! There is another madness besides, and it isbefore the deed. Ah! ye have not gone deep enough into this soul! Thus speaketh the red judge: "Why did this criminal commit murder?He meant to rob." I tell you, however, that his soul wanted blood, notbooty: he thirsted for the happiness of the knife! But his weak reason understood not this madness, and it persuadedhim. "What matter about blood!" it said; "wishest thou not, atleast, to make booty thereby? Or take revenge?" And he hearkened unto his weak reason: like lead lay its wordsupon him- thereupon he robbed when he murdered. He did not mean tobe ashamed of his madness. And now once more lieth the lead of his guilt upon him, and oncemore is his weak reason so benumbed, so paralysed, and so dull. Could he only shake his head, then would his burden roll off; butwho shaketh that head? What is this man? A mass of diseases that reach out into the worldthrough the spirit; there they want to get their prey. What is this man? A coil of wild serpents that are seldom at peaceamong themselves- so they go forth apart and seek prey in the world. Look at that poor body! What it suffered and craved, the poor soulinterpreted to itself- it interpreted it as murderous desire, andeagerness for the happiness of the knife. Him who now turneth sick, the evil overtaketh which is now the evil:he seeketh to cause pain with that which causeth him pain. But therehave been other ages, and another evil and good. Once was doubt evil, and the will to Self. Then the invalid became aheretic or sorcerer; as heretic or sorcerer he suffered, and sought tocause suffering. But this will not enter your ears; it hurteth your good people, yetell me. But what doth it matter to me about your good people! Many things in your good people cause me disgust, and verily, nottheir evil. I would that they had a madness by which they succumbed,like this pale criminal! Verily, I would that their madness were called truth, or fidelity,or justice: but they have their virtue in order to live long, and inwretched self-complacency. I am a railing alongside the torrent; whoever is able to grasp memay grasp me! Your crutch, however, I am not.-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 7. Reading and Writing

OF ALL that is written, I love only what a person hath written withhis blood. Write with blood, and thou wilt find that blood is spirit. It is no easy task to understand unfamiliar blood; I hate thereading idlers. He who knoweth the reader, doeth nothing more for the reader.Another century of readers- and spirit itself will stink. Every one being allowed to learn to read, ruineth in the long runnot only writing but also thinking. Once spirit was God, then it became man, and now it even becomethpopulace. He that writeth in blood and proverbs doth not want to be read,but learnt by heart. In the mountains the shortest way is from peak to peak, but for thatroute thou must have long legs. Proverbs should be peaks, and thosespoken to should be big and tall. The atmosphere rare and pure, danger near and the spirit full of ajoyful wickedness: thus are things well matched. I want to have goblins about me, for I am courageous. The couragewhich scareth away ghosts, createth for itself goblins- it wantethto laugh. I no longer feel in common with you; the very cloud which I seebeneath me, the blackness and heaviness at which I laugh- that is yourthunder-cloud. Ye look aloft when ye long for exaltation; and I look downwardbecause I am exalted. Who among you can at the same time laugh and be exalted? He who climbeth on the highest mountains, laugheth at all tragicplays and tragic realities. Courageous, unconcerned, scornful, coercive- so wisdom wisheth us;she is a woman, and ever loveth only a warrior. Ye tell me, "Life is hard to bear." But for what purpose should yehave your pride in the morning and your resignation in the evening? Life is hard to bear: but do not affect to be so delicate! We areall of us fine sumpter asses and she-asses. What have we in common with the rose-bud, which trembleth becausea drop of dew hath formed upon it? It is true we love life; not because we are wont to live, butbecause we are wont to love. There is always some madness in love. But there is always, also,some method in madness. And to me also, who appreciate life, the butterflies, andsoap-bubbles, and whatever is like them amongst us, seem most to enjoyhappiness. To see these light, foolish, pretty, lively little sprites flitabout- that moveth Zarathustra to tears and songs. I should only believe in a God that would know how to dance. And when I saw my devil, I found him serious, thorough, profound,solemn: he was the spirit of gravity- through him all things fall. Not by wrath, but by laughter, do we slay. Come, let us slay thespirit of gravity! I learned to walk; since then have I let myself run. I learned tofly; since then I do not need pushing in order to move from a spot. Now am I light, now do I fly; now do I see myself under myself.Now there danceth a God in me.- Thus spake Zarathustra. 8. The Tree on the Hill

ZARATHUSTRA's eye had perceived that a certain youth avoided him.And as he walked alone one evening over the hills surrounding the towncalled "The Pied Cow," behold, there found he the youth sittingleaning against a tree, and gazing with wearied look into thevalley. Zarathustra thereupon laid hold of the tree beside which theyouth sat, and spake thus: "If I wished to shake this tree with my hands, I should not beable to do so. But the wind, which we see not, troubleth and bendeth it as itlisteth. We are sorest bent and troubled by invisible hands." Thereupon the youth arose disconcerted, and said: "I hearZarathustra, and just now was I thinking of him!" Zarathustraanswered: "Why art thou frightened on that account?- But it is the same withman as with the tree. The more he seeketh to rise into the height and light, the morevigorously do his roots struggle earthward, downward, into the darkand deep- into the evil." "Yea, into the evil!" cried the youth. "How is it possible that thouhast discovered my soul?" Zarathustra smiled, and said: "Many a soul one will neverdiscover, unless one first invent it." "Yea, into the evil!" cried the youth once more. "Thou saidst the truth, Zarathustra. I trust myself no longersince I sought to rise into the height, and nobody trusteth me anylonger; how doth that happen? I change too quickly: my to-day refuteth my yesterday. I oftenoverleap the steps when I clamber; for so doing, none of the stepspardons me. When aloft, I find myself always alone. No one speaketh unto me; thefrost of solitude maketh me tremble. What do I seek on the height? My contempt and my longing increase together; the higher Iclamber, the more do I despise him who clambereth. What doth he seekon the height? How ashamed I am of my clambering and stumbling! How I mock at myviolent panting! How I hate him who flieth! How tired I am on theheight!" Here the youth was silent. And Zarathustra contemplated the treebeside which they stood, and spake thus: "This tree standeth lonely here on the hills; it hath grown uphigh above man and beast. And if it wanted to speak, it would have none who could understandit: so high hath it grown. Now it waiteth and waiteth,- for what doth it wait? It dwellethtoo close to the seat of the clouds; it waiteth perhaps for thefirst lightning?" When Zarathustra had said this, the youth called out with violentgestures: "Yea, Zarathustra, thou speakest the truth. My destruction Ilonged for, when I desired to be on the height, and thou art thelightning for which I waited! Lo! what have I been since thou hastappeared amongst us? It is mine envy of thee that hath destroyed me!"-Thus spake the youth, and wept bitterly. Zarathustra, however, put hisarm about him, and led the youth away with him. And when they had walked a while together, Zarathustra began tospeak thus: It rendeth my heart. Better than thy words express it, thine eyestell me all thy danger. As yet thou art not free; thou still seekest freedom. Too unslepthath thy seeking made thee, and too wakeful. On the open height wouldst thou be; for the stars thirsteth thysoul. But thy bad impulses also thirst for freedom. Thy wild dogs want liberty; they bark for joy in their cellar whenthy spirit endeavoureth to open all prison doors. Still art thou a prisoner- it seemeth to me- who deviseth libertyfor himself: ah! sharp becometh the soul of such prisoners, but alsodeceitful and wicked. To purify himself, is still necessary for the freedman of thespirit. Much of the prison and the mould still remaineth in him:pure hath his eye still to become. Yea, I know thy danger. But by my love and hope I conjure thee: castnot thy love and hope away! Noble thou feelest thyself still, and noble others also feel theestill, though they bear thee a grudge and cast evil looks. Knowthis, that to everybody a noble one standeth in the way. Also to the good, a noble one standeth in the way: and even whenthey call him a good man, they want thereby to put him aside. The new, would the noble man create, and a new virtue. The old,wanteth the good man, and that the old should be conserved. But it is not the danger of the noble man to turn a good man, butlest he should become a blusterer, a scoffer, or a destroyer. Ah! I have known noble ones who lost their highest hope. And thenthey disparaged all high hopes. Then lived they shamelessly in temporary pleasures, and beyond theday had hardly an aim. "Spirit is also voluptuousness,"- said they. Then broke the wings oftheir spirit; and now it creepeth about, and defileth where itgnaweth. Once they thought of becoming heroes; but sensualists are theynow. A trouble and a terror is the hero to them. But by my love and hope I conjure thee: cast not away the hero inthy soul! Maintain holy thy highest hope!-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 9. The Preachers of Death

THERE are preachers of death: and the earth is full of those to whomdesistance from life must be preached. Full is the earth of the superfluous; marred is life by themany-too-many. May they be decoyed out of this life by the "lifeeternal"! "The yellow ones": so are called the preachers of death, or "theblack ones." But I will show them unto you in other colours besides. There are the terrible ones who carry about in themselves thebeast of prey, and have no choice except lusts or self-laceration. Andeven their lusts are self-laceration. They have not yet become men, those terrible ones: may they preachdesistance from life, and pass away themselves! There are the spiritually consumptive ones: hardly are they bornwhen they begin to die, and long for doctrines of lassitude andrenunciation. They would fain be dead, and we should approve of their wish! Let usbeware of awakening those dead ones, and of damaging those livingcoffins! They meet an invalid, or an old man, or a corpse- and immediatelythey say: "Life is refuted!" But they only are refuted, and their eye, which seeth only oneaspect of existence. Shrouded in thick melancholy, and eager for the little casualtiesthat bring death: thus do they wait, and clench their teeth. Or else, they grasp at sweetmeats, and mock at their childishnessthereby: they cling to their straw of life, and mock at their stillclinging to it. Their wisdom speaketh thus: "A fool, he who remaineth alive; butso far are we fools! And that is the foolishest thing in life!" "Life is only suffering": so say others, and lie not. Then see to itthat ye cease! See to it that the life ceaseth which is onlysuffering! And let this be the teaching of your virtue: "Thou shalt slaythyself! Thou shalt steal away from thyself!"- "Lust is sin,"- so say some who preach death- "let us go apart andbeget no children!" "Giving birth is troublesome,"- say others- "why still give birth?One beareth only the unfortunate!" And they also are preachers ofdeath. "Pity is necessary,"- so saith a third party. "Take what I have!Take what I am! So much less doth life bind me!" Were they consistently pitiful, then would they make theirneighbours sick of life. To be wicked- that would be their truegoodness. But they want to be rid of life; what care they if they bindothers still faster with their chains and gifts!- And ye also, to whom life is rough labour and disquiet, are ye notvery tired of life? Are ye not very ripe for the sermon of death? All ye to whom rough labour is dear, and the rapid, new, andstrange- ye put up with yourselves badly; your diligence is flight,and the will to self-forgetfulness. If ye believed more in life, then would ye devote yourselves less tothe momentary. But for waiting, ye have not enough of capacity in you-nor even for idling! Everywhere resoundeth the voices of those who preach death; andthe earth is full of those to whom death hath to be preached. Or "life eternal"; it is all the same to me- if only they passaway quickly!-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 10. War and Warriors

BY OUR best enemies we do not want to be spared, nor by those eitherwhom we love from the very heart. So let me tell you the truth! My brethren in war! I love you from the very heart. I am, and wasever, your counterpart. And I am also your best enemy. So let metell you the truth! I know the hatred and envy of your hearts. Ye are not great enoughnot to know of hatred and envy. Then be great enough not to be ashamedof them! And if ye cannot be saints of knowledge, then, I pray you, be atleast its warriors. They are the companions and forerunners of suchsaintship. I see many soldiers; could I but see many warriors! "Uniform" onecalleth what they wear; may it not be uniform what they therewithhide! Ye shall be those whose eyes ever seek for an enemy- for your enemy.And with some of you there is hatred at first sight. Your enemy shall ye seek; your war shall ye wage, and for the sakeof your thoughts! And if your thoughts succumb, your uprightness shallstill shout triumph thereby! Ye shall love peace as a means to new wars- and the short peace morethan the long. You I advise not to work, but to fight. You I advise not to peace,but to victory. Let your work be a fight, let your peace be a victory! One can only be silent and sit peacefully when one hath arrow andbow; otherwise one prateth and quarrelleth. Let your peace be avictory! Ye say it is the good cause which halloweth even war? I say untoyou: it is the good war which halloweth every cause. War and courage have done more great things than charity. Not yoursympathy, but your bravery hath hitherto saved the victims. "What is good?" ye ask. To be brave is good. Let the little girlssay: "To be good is what is pretty, and at the same time touching." They call you heartless: but your heart is true, and I love thebashfulness of your goodwill. Ye are ashamed of your flow, andothers are ashamed of their ebb. Ye are ugly? Well then, my brethren, take the sublime about you, themantle of the ugly! And when your soul becometh great, then doth it become haughty,and in your sublimity there is wickedness. I know you. In wickedness the haughty man and the weakling meet. But theymisunderstand one another. I know you. Ye shall only have enemies to be hated, but not enemies to bedespised. Ye must be proud of your enemies; then, the successes ofyour enemies are also your successes. Resistance- that is the distinction of the slave. Let yourdistinction be obedience. Let your commanding itself be obeying! To the good warrior soundeth "thou shalt" pleasanter than "Iwill." And all that is dear unto you, ye shall first have it commandedunto you. Let your love to life be love to your highest hope; and let yourhighest hope be the highest thought of life! Your highest thought, however, ye shall have it commanded unto youby me- and it is this: man is something that is to be surpassed. So live your life of obedience and of war! What matter about longlife! What warrior wisheth to be spared! I spare you not, I love you from my very heart, my brethren in war!-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 11. The New Idol

SOMEWHERE there are still peoples and herds, but not with us, mybrethren: here there are states. A state? What is that? Well! open now your ears unto me, for nowwill I say unto you my word concerning the death of peoples. A state, is called the coldest of all cold monsters. Coldly lieth italso; and this lie creepeth from its mouth: "I, the state, am thepeople." It is a lie! Creators were they who created peoples, and hung afaith and a love over them: thus they served life. Destroyers, are they who lay snares for many, and call it the state:they hang a sword and a hundred cravings over them. Where there is still a people, there the state is not understood,but hated as the evil eye, and as sin against laws and customs. This sign I give unto you: every people speaketh its language ofgood and evil: this its neighbour understandeth not. Its language hathit devised for itself in laws and customs. But the state lieth in all languages of good and evil; andwhatever it saith it lieth; and whatever it hath it hath stolen. False is everything in it; with stolen teeth it biteth, the bitingone. False are even its bowels. Confusion of language of good and evil; this sign I give unto you asthe sign of the state. Verily, the will to death, indicateth thissign! Verily, it beckoneth unto the preachers of death! Many too many are born: for the superfluous ones was the statedevised! See just how it enticeth them to it, the many-too-many! How itswalloweth and cheweth and recheweth them! "On earth there is nothing greater than I: it is I who am theregulating finger of God."- thus roareth the monster. And not only thelong-eared and short-sighted fall upon their knees! Ah! even in your ears, ye great souls, it whispereth its gloomylies! Ah! it findeth out the rich hearts which willingly lavishthemselves! Yea, it findeth you out too, ye conquerors of the old God! Wearyye became of the conflict, and now your weariness serveth the newidol! Heroes and honourable ones, it would fain set up around it, thenew idol! Gladly it basketh in the sunshine of good consciences,-the cold monster! Everything will it give you, if ye worship it, the new idol: thus itpurchaseth the lustre of your virtue, and the glance of your proudeyes. It seeketh to allure by means of you, the many-too-many! Yea, ahellish artifice hath here been devised, a death-horse jingling withthe trappings of divine honours! Yea, a dying for many hath here been devised, which glorifiethitself as life: verily, a hearty service unto all preachers of death! The state, I call it, where all are poison-drinkers, the good andthe bad: the state, where all lose themselves, the good and the bad:the state, where the slow suicide of all- is called "life." Just see these superfluous ones! They steal the works of theinventors and the treasures of the wise. Culture, they call theirtheft- and everything becometh sickness and trouble unto them! Just see these superfluous ones! Sick are they always; they vomittheir bile and call it a newspaper. They devour one another, andcannot even digest themselves. Just see these superfluous ones! Wealth they acquire and becomepoorer thereby. Power they seek for, and above all, the lever ofpower, much money- these impotent ones! See them clamber, these nimble apes! They clamber over oneanother, and thus scuffle into the mud and the abyss. Towards the throne they all strive: it is their madness- as ifhappiness sat on the throne! Ofttimes sitteth filth on the throne.-and ofttimes also the throne on filth. Madmen they all seem to me, and clambering apes, and too eager.Badly smelleth their idol to me, the cold monster: badly they allsmell to me, these idolaters. My brethren, will ye suffocate in the fumes of their maws andappetites! Better break the windows and jump into the open air! Do go out of the way of the bad odour! Withdraw from the idolatry ofthe superfluous! Do go out of the way of the bad odour! Withdraw from the steam ofthese human sacrifices! Open still remaineth the earth for great souls. Empty are still manysites for lone ones and twain ones, around which floateth the odour oftranquil seas. Open still remaineth a free life for great souls. Verily, he whopossesseth little is so much the less possessed: blessed be moderatepoverty! There, where the state ceaseth- there only commenceth the man who isnot superfluous: there commenceth the song of the necessary ones,the single and irreplaceable melody. There, where the state ceaseth- pray look thither, my brethren! Doye not see it, the rainbow and the bridges of the Superman?-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 12. The Flies in the Market-Place

FLEE, my friend, into thy solitude! I see thee deafened with thenoise of the great men, and stung all over with the stings of thelittle ones. Admirably do forest and rock know how to be silent with thee.Resemble again the tree which thou lovest, the broad-branched one-silently and attentively it o'erhangeth the sea. Where solitude endeth, there beginneth the market-place; and wherethe market-place beginneth, there beginneth also the noise of thegreat actors, and the buzzing of the poison-flies. In the world even the best things are worthless without those whorepresent them: those representers, the people call great men. Little, do the people understand what is great- that is to say,the creating agency. But they have a taste for all representers andactors of great things. Around the devisers of new values revolveth the world:- invisibly itrevolveth. But around the actors revolve the people and the glory:such is the course of things. Spirit, hath the actor, but little conscience of the spirit. Hebelieveth always in that wherewith he maketh believe most strongly- inhimself! Tomorrow he hath a new belief, and the day after, one still newer.Sharp perceptions hath he, like the people, and changeable humours. To upset- that meaneth with him to prove. To drive mad- that meanethwith him to convince. And blood is counted by him as the best of allarguments. A truth which only glideth into fine ears, he calleth falsehoodand trumpery. Verily, he believeth only in gods that make a greatnoise in the world! Full of clattering buffoons is the market-place,- and the peopleglory in their great men! These are for them the masters of the hour. But the hour presseth them; so they press thee. And also from theethey want Yea or Nay. Alas! thou wouldst set thy chair betwixt For andAgainst? On account of those absolute and impatient ones, be not jealous,thou lover of truth! Never yet did truth cling to the arm of anabsolute one. On account of those abrupt ones, return into thy security: only inthe market-place is one assailed by Yea? or Nay? Slow is the experience of all deep fountains: long have they to waituntil they know what hath fallen into their depths. Away from the market-place and from fame taketh place all that isgreat: away from the market-Place and from fame have ever dwelt thedevisers of new values. Flee, my friend, into thy solitude: I see thee stung all over by thepoisonous flies. Flee thither, where a rough, strong breeze bloweth! Flee into thy solitude! Thou hast lived too closely to the small andthe pitiable. Flee from their invisible vengeance! Towards thee theyhave nothing but vengeance. Raise no longer an arm against them! Innumerable are they, and it isnot thy lot to be a fly-flap. Innumerable are the small and pitiable ones; and of many a proudstructure, rain-drops and weeds have been the ruin. Thou art not stone; but already hast thou become hollow by thenumerous drops. Thou wilt yet break and burst by the numerous drops. Exhausted I see thee, by poisonous flies; bleeding I see thee, andtorn at a hundred spots; and thy pride will not even upbraid. Blood they would have from thee in all innocence; blood theirbloodless souls crave for- and they sting, therefore, in allinnocence. But thou, profound one, thou sufferest too profoundly even fromsmall wounds; and ere thou hadst recovered, the same poison-wormcrawled over thy hand. Too proud art thou to kill these sweet-tooths. But take care lest itbe thy fate to suffer all their poisonous injustice! They buzz around thee also with their praise: obtrusiveness is theirpraise. They want to be close to thy skin and thy blood. They flatter thee, as one flattereth a God or devil; they whimperbefore thee, as before a God or devil; What doth it come to!Flatterers are they, and whimperers, and nothing more. Often, also, do they show themselves to thee as amiable ones. Butthat hath ever been the prudence of the cowardly. Yea! the cowardlyare wise! They think much about thee with their circumscribed souls- thouart always suspected by them! Whatever is much thought about is atlast thought suspicious. They punish thee for all thy virtues. They pardon thee in theirinmost hearts only- for thine errors. Because thou art gentle and of upright character, thou sayest:"Blameless are they for their small existence." But theircircumscribed souls think: "Blamable is all great existence." Even when thou art gentle towards them, they still feel themselvesdespised by thee; and they repay thy beneficence with secretmaleficence. Thy silent pride is always counter to their taste; they rejoice ifonce thou be humble enough to be frivolous. What we recognise in a man, we also irritate in him. Therefore be onyour guard against the small ones! In thy presence they feel themselves small, and their basenessgleameth and gloweth against thee in invisible vengeance. Sawest thou not how often they became dumb when thou approachedstthem, and how their energy left them like the smoke of anextinguishing fire? Yea, my friend, the bad conscience art thou of thy neighbours; forthey are unworthy of thee. Therefore they hate thee, and would fainsuck thy blood. Thy neighbours will always be poisonous flies; what is great inthee- that itself must make them more poisonous, and always morefly-like. Flee, my friend, into thy solitude- and thither, where a roughstrong breeze bloweth. It is not thy lot to be a fly-flap.-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 13. Chastity

I LOVE the forest. It is bad to live in cities: there, there are toomany of the lustful. Is it not better to fall into the hands of a murderer than intothe dreams of a lustful woman? And just look at these men: their eye saith it- they know nothingbetter on earth than to lie with a woman. Filth is at the bottom of their souls; and alas! if their filth hathstill spirit in it! Would that ye were perfect- at least as animals! But to animalsbelongeth innocence. Do I counsel you to slay your instincts? I counsel you toinnocence in your instincts. Do I counsel you to chastity? Chastity is a virtue with some, butwith many almost a vice. These are continent, to be sure: but doggish lust lookethenviously out of all that they do. Even into the heights of their virtue and into their cold spiritdoth this creature follow them, with its discord. And how nicely can doggish lust beg for a piece of spirit, when apiece of flesh is denied it! Ye love tragedies and all that breaketh the heart? But I amdistrustful of your doggish lust. Ye have too cruel eyes, and ye look wantonly towards thesufferers. Hath not your lust just disguised itself and taken the nameof fellow-suffering? And also this parable give I unto you: Not a few who meant to castout their devil, went thereby into the swine themselves. To whom chastity is difficult, it is to be dissuaded: lest it becomethe road to hell- to filth and lust of soul. Do I speak of filthy things? That is not the worst thing for me todo. Not when the truth is filthy, but when it is shallow, doth thediscerning one go unwillingly into its waters. Verily, there are chaste ones from their very nature; they aregentler of heart, and laugh better and oftener than you. They laugh also at chastity, and ask: "What is chastity? Is chastity not folly? But the folly came unto us, and not we untoit. We offered that guest harbour and heart: now it dwelleth with us-let it stay as long as it will!"-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 14. The Friend

"ONE is always too many about me"- thinketh the anchorite. "Alwaysonce one- that maketh two in the long run!" I and me are always too earnestly in conversation: how could it beendured, if there were not a friend? The friend of the anchorite is always the third one: the third oneis the cork which preventeth the conversation of the two sinkinginto the depth. Ah! there are too many depths for all anchorites. Therefore, do theylong so much for a friend and for his elevation. Our faith in others betrayeth wherein we would fain have faith inourselves. Our longing for a friend is our betrayer. And often with our love we want merely to overleap envy. And oftenwe attack and make ourselves enemies, to conceal that we arevulnerable. "Be at least mine enemy!"- thus speaketh the true reverence, whichdoth not venture to solicit friendship. If one would have a friend, then must one also be willing to wagewar for him: and in order to wage war, one must be capable of being anenemy. One ought still to honour the enemy in one's friend. Canst thou gonigh unto thy friend, and not go over to him? In one's friend one shall have one's best enemy. Thou shalt beclosest unto him with thy heart when thou withstandest him. Thou wouldst wear no raiment before thy friend? It is in honour ofthy friend that thou showest thyself to him as thou art? But hewisheth thee to the devil on that account! He who maketh no secret of himself shocketh: so much reason haveye to fear nakedness! Aye, if ye were gods, ye could then be ashamedof clothing! Thou canst not adorn thyself fine enough for thy friend; for thoushalt be unto him an arrow and a longing for the Superman. Sawest thou ever thy friend asleep- to know how he looketh? Whatis usually the countenance of thy friend? It is thine own countenance,in a coarse and imperfect mirror. Sawest thou ever thy friend asleep? Wert thou not dismayed at thyfriend looking so? O my friend, man is something that hath to besurpassed. In divining and keeping silence shall the friend be a master: noteverything must thou wish to see. Thy dream shall disclose unto theewhat thy friend doeth when awake. Let thy pity be a divining: to know first if thy friend wantethpity. Perhaps he loveth in thee the unmoved eye, and the look ofeternity. Let thy pity for thy friend be hid under a hard shell; thou shaltbite out a tooth upon it. Thus will it have delicacy and sweetness. Art thou pure air and solitude and bread and medicine to thy friend?Many a one cannot loosen his own fetters, but is nevertheless hisfriend's emancipator. Art thou a slave? Then thou canst not be a friend. Art thou atyrant? Then thou canst not have friends. Far too long hath there been a slave and a tyrant concealed inwoman. On that account woman is not yet capable of friendship: sheknoweth only love. In woman's love there is injustice and blindness to all she doth notlove. And even in woman's conscious love, there is still alwayssurprise and lightning and night, along with the light. As yet woman is not capable of friendship: women are still catsand birds. Or at the best, cows. As yet woman is not capable of friendship. But tell me, ye men,who of you is capable of friendship? Oh! your poverty, ye men, and your sordidness of soul! As much as yegive to your friend, will I give even to my foe, and will not havebecome poorer thereby. There is comradeship: may there be friendship!

Thus spake Zarathustra. 15. The Thousand and One Goals

MANY lands saw Zarathustra, and many peoples: thus he discovered thegood and bad of many peoples. No greater power did Zarathustra find onearth than good and bad. No people could live without first valuing; if a people willmaintain itself, however, it must not value as its neighbour valueth. Much that passed for good with one people was regarded with scornand contempt by another: thus I found it. Much found I here calledbad, which was there decked with purple honours. Never did the one neighbour understand the other: ever did hissoul marvel at his neighbour's delusion and wickedness. A table of excellencies hangeth over every people. Lo! it is thetable of their triumphs; lo! it is the voice of their Will to Power. It is laudable, what they think hard; what is indispensable and hardthey call good; and what relieveth in the direst distress, theunique and hardest of all,- they extol as holy. Whatever maketh them rule and conquer and shine, to the dismay andenvy of their neighbours, they regard as the high and foremostthing, the test and the meaning of all else. Verily, my brother, if thou knewest but a people's need, its land,its sky, and its neighbour, then wouldst thou divine the law of itssurmountings, and why it climbeth up that ladder to its hope. "Always shalt thou be the foremost and prominent above others: noone shall thy jealous soul love, except a friend"- that made thesoul of a Greek thrill: thereby went he his way to greatness. "To speak truth, and be skilful with bow and arrow"- so seemed italike pleasing and hard to the people from whom cometh my name- thename which is alike pleasing and hard to me. "To honour father and mother, and from the root of the soul to dotheir will"- this table of surmounting hung another people overthem, and became powerful and permanent thereby. "To have fidelity, and for the sake of fidelity to risk honour andblood, even in evil and dangerous courses"- teaching itself so,another people mastered itself, and thus mastering itself, becamepregnant and heavy with great hopes. Verily, men have given unto themselves all their good and bad.Verily, they took it not, they found it not, it came not unto themas a voice from heaven. Values did man only assign to things in order to maintain himself-he created only the significance of things, a human significance!Therefore, calleth he himself "man," that is, the valuator. Valuing is creating: hear it, ye creating ones! Valuation itselfis the treasure and jewel of the valued things. Through valuation only is there value; and without valuation the nutof existence would be hollow. Hear it, ye creating ones! Change of values- that is, change of the creating ones. Alwaysdoth he destroy who hath to be a creator. Creating ones were first of all peoples, and only in late timesindividuals; verily, the individual himself is still the latestcreation. Peoples once hung over them tables of the good. Love which wouldrule and love which would obey, created for themselves such tables. Older is the pleasure in the herd than the pleasure in the ego:and as long as the good conscience is for the herd, the bad conscienceonly saith: ego. Verily, the crafty ego, the loveless one, that seeketh its advantagein the advantage of many- it is not the origin of the herd, but itsruin. Loving ones, was it always, and creating ones, that created good andbad. Fire of love gloweth in the names of all the virtues, and fire ofwrath. Many lands saw Zarathustra, and many peoples: no greater power didZarathustra find on earth than the creations of the loving ones-"good" and "bad" are they called. Verily, a prodigy is this power of praising and blaming. Tell me, yebrethren, who will master it for me? Who will put a fetter upon thethousand necks of this animal? A thousand goals have there been hitherto, for a thousand peopleshave there been. Only the fetter for the thousand necks is stilllacking; there is lacking the one goal. As yet humanity hath not agoal. But pray tell me, my brethren, if the goal of humanity be stilllacking, is there not also still lacking- humanity itself?-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 16. Neighbour-Love

YE CROWD around your neighbour, and have fine words for it. But Isay unto you: your neighbour-love is your bad love of yourselves. Ye flee unto your neighbour from yourselves, and would fain make avirtue thereof: but I fathom your "unselfishness." The Thou is older than the I; the Thou hath been consecrated, butnot yet the I: so man presseth nigh unto his neighbour. Do I advise you to neighbour-love? Rather do I advise you toneighbour-flight and to furthest love! Higher than love to your neighbour is love to the furthest andfuture ones; higher still than love to men, is love to things andphantoms. The phantom that runneth on before thee, my brother, is fairerthan thou; why dost thou not give unto it thy flesh and thy bones? Butthou fearest, and runnest unto thy neighbour. Ye cannot endure it with yourselves, and do not love yourselvessufficiently: so ye seek to mislead your neighbour into love, andwould fain gild yourselves with his error. Would that ye could not endure it with any kind of near ones, ortheir neighbours; then would ye have to create your friend and hisoverflowing heart out of yourselves. Ye call in a witness when ye want to speak well of yourselves; andwhen ye have misled him to think well of you, ye also think well ofyourselves. Not only doth he lie, who speaketh contrary to his knowledge, butmore so, he who speaketh contrary to his ignorance. And thus speakye of yourselves in your intercourse, and belie your neighbour withyourselves. Thus saith the fool: "Association with men spoileth the character,especially when one hath none." The one goeth to his neighbour because he seeketh himself, and theother because he would fain lose himself. Your bad love toyourselves maketh solitude a prison to you. The furthest ones are they who pay for your love to the near ones;and when there are but five of you together, a sixth must always die. I love not your festivals either: too many actors found I there, andeven the spectators often behaved like actors. Not the neighbour do I teach you, but the friend. Let the friendbe the festival of the earth to you, and a foretaste of the Superman. I teach you the friend and his overflowing heart. But one mustknow how to be a sponge, if one would be loved by over-flowing hearts. I teach you the friend in whom the world standeth complete, acapsule of the good,- the creating friend, who hath always acomplete world to bestow. And as the world unrolled itself for him, so rolleth it togetheragain for him in rings, as the growth of good through evil, as thegrowth of purpose out of chance. Let the future and the furthest be the motive of thy today; in thyfriend shalt thou love the Superman as thy motive. My brethren, I advise you not to neighbour-love- I advise you tofurthest love!-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 17. The Way of the Creating One

WOULDST thou go into isolation, my brother? Wouldst thou seek theway unto thyself? Tarry yet a little and hearken unto me. "He who seeketh may easily get lost himself. All isolation iswrong": so say the herd. And long didst thou belong to the herd. The voice of the herd will still echo in thee. And when thou sayest,"I have no longer a conscience in common with you," then will it bea plaint and a pain. Lo, that pain itself did the same conscience produce; and the lastgleam of that conscience still gloweth on thine affliction. But thou wouldst go the way of thine affliction, which is the wayunto thyself? Then show me thine authority and thy strength to do so! Art thou a new strength and a new authority? A first motion? Aself-rolling wheel? Canst thou also compel stars to revolve aroundthee? Alas! there is so much lusting for loftiness! There are so manyconvulsions of the ambitions! Show me that thou art not a lustingand ambitious one! Alas! there are so many great thoughts that do nothing more than thebellows: they inflate, and make emptier than ever. Free, dost thou call thyself? Thy ruling thought would I hear of,and not that thou hast escaped from a yoke. Art thou one entitled to escape from a yoke? Many a one hath castaway his final worth when he hath cast away his servitude. Free from what? What doth that matter to Zarathustra! Clearly,however, shall thine eye show unto me: free for what? Canst thou give unto thyself thy bad and thy good, and set up thywill as a law over thee? Canst thou be judge for thyself, andavenger of thy law? Terrible is aloneness with the judge and avenger of one's own law.Thus is a star projected into desert space, and into the icy breath ofaloneness. To-day sufferest thou still from the multitude, thou individual;to-day hast thou still thy courage unabated, and thy hopes. But one day will the solitude weary thee; one day will thy prideyield, and thy courage quail. Thou wilt one day cry: "I am alone!" One day wilt thou see no longer thy loftiness, and see too closelythy lowliness; thy sublimity itself will frighten thee as a phantom.Thou wilt one day cry: "All is false!" There are feelings which seek to slay the lonesome one; if they donot succeed, then must they themselves die! But art thou capable ofit- to be a murderer? Hast thou ever known, my brother, the word "disdain"? And theanguish of thy justice in being just to those that disdain thee? Thou forcest many to think differently about thee; that, charge theyheavily to thine account. Thou camest nigh unto them, and yetwentest past: for that they never forgive thee. Thou goest beyond them: but the higher thou risest, the smaller doththe eye of envy see thee. Most of all, however, is the flying onehated. "How could ye be just unto me!"- must thou say- "I choose yourinjustice as my allotted portion. Injustice and filth cast they at the lonesome one: but, mybrother, if thou wouldst be a star, thou must shine for them nonethe less on that account! And be on thy guard against the good and just! They would faincrucify those who devise their own virtue- they hate the lonesomeones. Be on thy guard, also, against holy simplicity! All is unholy toit that is not simple; fain, likewise, would it play with the fire- ofthe fagot and stake. And be on thy guard, also, against the assaults of thy love! Tooreadily doth the recluse reach his hand to any one who meeteth him. To many a one mayest thou not give thy hand, but only thy paw; and Iwish thy paw also to have claws. But the worst enemy thou canst meet, wilt thou thyself always be;thou waylayest thyself in caverns and forests. Thou lonesome one, thou goest the way to thyself! And past thyselfand thy seven devils leadeth thy way! A heretic wilt thou be to thyself, and a wizard and a soothsayer,and a fool, and a doubter, and a reprobate, and a villain. Ready must thou be to burn thyself in thine own flame; how couldstthou become new if thou have not first become ashes! Thou lonesome one, thou goest the way of the creating one: a Godwilt thou create for thyself out of thy seven devils! Thou lonesome one, thou goest the way of the loving one: thou lovestthyself, and on that account despisest thou thyself, as only theloving ones despise. To create, desireth the loving one, because he despiseth! Whatknoweth he of love who hath not been obliged to despise just what heloved! With thy love, go into thine isolation, my brother, and with thycreating; and late only will justice limp after thee. With my tears, go into thine isolation, my brother. I love him whoseeketh to create beyond himself, and thus succumbeth.-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 18. Old and Young Women

WHY stealest thou along so furtively in the twilight, Zarathustra?And what hidest thou so carefully under thy mantle? Is it a treasure that hath been given thee? Or a child that hathbeen born thee? Or goest thou thyself on a thief's errand, thou friendof the evil?- Verily, my brother, said Zarathustra, it is a treasure that hathbeen given me: it is a little truth which I carry. But it is naughty, like a young child; and if I hold not itsmouth, it screameth too loudly. As I went on my way alone today, at the hour when the sun declineth,there met me an old woman, and she spake thus unto my soul: "Much hath Zarathustra spoken also to us women, but never spake heunto us concerning woman." And I answered her: "Concerning woman, one should only talk untomen." "Talk also unto me of woman," said she; "I am old enough to forgetit presently." And I obliged the old woman and spake thus unto her: Everything in woman is a riddle, and everything in woman hath onesolution- it is called pregnancy. Man is for woman a means: the purpose is always the child. Butwhat is woman for man? Two different things wanteth the true man: danger and diversion.Therefore wanteth he woman, as the most dangerous plaything. Man shall be trained for war, and woman for the recreation of thewarrior: all else is folly. Too sweet fruits- these the warrior liketh not. Therefore likethhe woman;- bitter is even the sweetest woman. Better than man doth woman understand children, but man is morechildish than woman. In the true man there is a child hidden: it wanteth to play. Upthen, ye women, and discover the child in man! A plaything let woman be, pure and fine like the precious stone,illumined with the virtues of a world not yet come. Let the beam of a star shine in your love! Let your hope say: "May Ibear the Superman!" In your love let there be valour! With your love shall ye assail himwho inspireth you with fear! In your love be your honour! Little doth woman understandotherwise about honour. But let this be your honour: always to lovemore than ye are loved, and never be the second. Let man fear woman when she loveth: then maketh she every sacrifice,and everything else she regardeth as worthless. Let man fear woman when she hateth: for man in his innermost soul ismerely evil; woman, however, is mean. Whom hateth woman most?- Thus spake the iron to the loadstone: "Ihate thee most, because thou attractest, but art too weak to draw untothee." The happiness of man is, "I will." The happiness of woman is, "Hewill." "Lo! "Lo! now hath the world become perfect!"- thus thinketh everywoman when she obeyeth with all her love. Obey, must the woman, and find a depth for her surface. Surface iswoman's soul, a mobile, stormy film on shallow water. Man's soul, however, is deep, its current gusheth in subterraneancaverns: woman surmiseth its force, but comprehendeth it not.- Then answered me the old woman: "Many fine things hath Zarathustrasaid, especially for those who are young enough for them. Strange! Zarathustra knoweth little about woman, and yet he is rightabout them! Doth this happen, because with women nothing isimpossible? And now accept a little truth by way of thanks! I am old enoughfor it! Swaddle it up and hold its mouth: otherwise it will scream tooloudly, the little truth." "Give me, woman, thy little truth!" said I. And thus spake the oldwoman: "Thou goest to women? Do not forget thy whip!"-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 19. The Bite of the Adder

ONE day had Zarathustra fallen asleep under a fig-tree, owing to theheat, with his arm over his face. And there came an adder and bithim in the neck, so that Zarathustra screamed with pain. When he hadtaken his arm from his face he looked at the serpent; and then didit recognise the eyes of Zarathustra, wriggled awkwardly, and tried toget away. "Not at all," said Zarathustra, "as yet hast thou notreceived my thanks! Thou hast awakened me in time; my journey is yetlong." "Thy journey is short," said the adder sadly; "my poison isfatal." Zarathustra smiled. "When did ever a dragon die of a serpent'spoison?"- said he. "But take thy poison back! Thou art not rich enoughto present it to me." Then fell the adder again on his neck, andlicked his wound. When Zarathustra once told this to his disciples they asked him:"And what, O Zarathustra, is the moral of thy story?" AndZarathustra answered them thus: The destroyer of morality, the good and just call me: my story isimmoral. When, however, ye have an enemy, then return him not good forevil: for that would abash him. But prove that he hath donesomething good to you. And rather be angry than abash any one! And when ye are cursed, itpleaseth me not that ye should then desire to bless. Rather curse alittle also! And should a great injustice befall you, then do quickly fivesmall ones besides. Hideous to behold is he on whom injustice pressethalone. Did ye ever know this? Shared injustice is half justice. And hewho can bear it, shall take the injustice upon himself! A small revenge is humaner than no revenge at all. And if thepunishment be not also a right and an honour to the transgressor, I donot like your punishing. Nobler is it to own oneself in the wrong than to establish one'sright, especially if one be in the right. Only, one must be richenough to do so. I do not like your cold justice; out of the eye of your judges therealways glanceth the executioner and his cold steel. Tell me: where find we justice, which is love with seeing eyes? Devise me, then, the love which not only beareth all punishment, butalso all guilt! Devise me, then, the justice which acquitteth every one except thejudge! And would ye hear this likewise? To him who seeketh to be justfrom the heart, even the lie becometh philanthropy. But how could I be just from the heart! How can I give every one hisown! Let this be enough for me: I give unto every one mine own. Finally, my brethren, guard against doing wrong to any anchorite.How could an anchorite forget! How could he requite! Like a deep well is an anchorite. Easy is it to throw in a stone: ifit should sink to the bottom, however, tell me, who will bring itout again? Guard against injuring the anchorite! If ye have done so, however,well then, kill him also!-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 20. Child and Marriage

I HAVE a question for thee alone, my brother: like asounding-lead, cast I this question into thy soul, that I may know itsdepth. Thou art young, and desirest child and marriage. But I ask thee: Artthou a man entitled to desire a child? Art thou the victorious one, the self-conqueror, the ruler of thypassions, the master of thy virtues? Thus do I ask thee. Or doth the animal speak in thy wish, and necessity? Or isolation?Or discord in thee? I would have thy victory and freedom long for a child. Livingmonuments shalt thou build to thy victory and emancipation. Beyond thyself shalt thou build. But first of all must thou be builtthyself, rectangular in body and soul. Not only onward shalt thou propagate thyself, but upward! For thatpurpose may the garden of marriage help thee! A higher body shalt thou create, a first movement, a spontaneouslyrolling wheel- a creating one shalt thou create. Marriage: so call I the will of the twain to create the one thatis more than those who created it. The reverence for one another, asthose exercising such a will, call I marriage. Let this be the significance and the truth of thy marriage. But thatwhich the many-too-many call marriage, those superfluous ones- ah,what shall I call it? Ah, the poverty of soul in the twain! Ah, the filth of soul in thetwain! Ah, the pitiable self-complacency in the twain! Marriage they call it all; and they say their marriages are madein heaven. Well, I do not like it, that heaven of the superfluous! No, I do notlike them, those animals tangled in the heavenly toils! Far from me also be the God who limpeth thither to bless what hehath not matched! Laugh not at such marriages! What child hath not had reason toweep over its parents? Worthy did this man seem, and ripe for the meaning of the earth: butwhen I saw his wife, the earth seemed to me a home for madcaps. Yea, I would that the earth shook with convulsions when a saintand a goose mate with one another. This one went forth in quest of truth as a hero, and at last got forhimself a small decked-up lie: his marriage he calleth it. That one was reserved in intercourse and chose choicely. But onetime he spoilt his company for all time: his marriage he calleth it. Another sought a handmaid with the virtues of an angel. But all atonce he became the handmaid of a woman, and now would he need alsoto become an angel. Careful, have I found all buyers, and all of them have astuteeyes. But even the astutest of them buyeth his wife in a sack. Many short follies- that is called love by you. And your marriageputteth an end to many short follies, with one long stupidity. Your love to woman, and woman's love to man- ah, would that itwere sympathy for suffering and veiled deities! But generally twoanimals alight on one another. But even your best love is only an enraptured simile and a painfulardour. It is a torch to light you to loftier paths. Beyond yourselves shall ye love some day! Then learn first of all tolove. And on that account ye had to drink the bitter cup of your love. Bitterness is in the cup even of the best love; thus doth it causelonging for the Superman; thus doth it cause thirst in thee, thecreating one! Thirst in the creating one, arrow and longing for the Superman: tellme, my brother, is this thy will to marriage? Holy call I such a will, and such a marriage.-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 21. Voluntary Death

MANY die too late, and some die too early. Yet strange soundeththe precept: "Die at the right time! Die at the right time: so teacheth Zarathustra. To be sure, he who never liveth at the right time, how could he everdie at the right time? Would that he might never be born!- Thus do Iadvise the superfluous ones. But even the superfluous ones make much ado about their death, andeven the hollowest nut wanteth to be cracked. Every one regardeth dying as a great matter: but as yet death is nota festival. Not yet have people learned to inaugurate the finestfestivals. The consummating death I show unto you, which becometh a stimulusand promise to the living. His death, dieth the consummating one triumphantly, surrounded byhoping and promising ones. Thus should one learn to die; and there should be no festival atwhich such a dying one doth not consecrate the oaths of the living! Thus to die is best; the next best, however, is to die in battle,and sacrifice a great soul. But to the fighter equally hateful as to the victor, is yourgrinning death which stealeth nigh like a thief,- and yet cometh asmaster. My death, praise I unto you, the voluntary death, which comethunto me because I want it. And when shall I want it?- He that hath a goal and an heir,wanteth death at the right time for the goal and the heir. And out of reverence for the goal and the heir, he will hang up nomore withered wreaths in the sanctuary of life. Verily, not the rope-makers will I resemble: they lengthen out theircord, and thereby go ever backward. Many a one, also, waxeth too old for his truths and triumphs; atoothless mouth hath no longer the right to every truth. And whoever wanteth to have fame, must take leave of honour betimes,and practise the difficult art of- going at the right time. One must discontinue being feasted upon when one tasteth best:that is known by those who want to be long loved. Sour apples are there, no doubt, whose lot is to wait until the lastday of autumn: and at the same time they become ripe, yellow, andshrivelled. In some ageth the heart first, and in others the spirit. And someare hoary in youth, but the late young keep long young. To many men life is a failure; a poison-worm gnaweth at their heart.Then let them see to it that their dying is all the more a success. Many never become sweet; they rot even in the summer. It iscowardice that holdeth them fast to their branches. Far too many live, and far too long hang they on their branches.Would that a storm came and shook all this rottenness andworm-eatenness from the tree! Would that there came preachers of speedy death! Those would bethe appropriate storms and agitators of the trees of life! But Ihear only slow death preached, and patience with all that is"earthly." Ah! ye preach patience with what is earthly? This earthly is it thathath too much patience with you, ye blasphemers! Verily, too early died that Hebrew whom the preachers of slowdeath honour: and to many hath it proved a calamity that he died tooearly. As yet had he known only tears, and the melancholy of the Hebrews,together with the hatred of the good and just- the Hebrew Jesus:then was he seized with the longing for death. Had he but remained in the wilderness, and far from the good andjust! Then, perhaps, would he have learned to live, and love theearth- and laughter also! Believe it, my brethren! He died too early; he himself would havedisavowed his doctrine had he attained to my age! Noble enough washe to disavow! But he was still immature. Immaturely loveth the youth, andimmaturely also hateth he man and earth. Confined and awkward arestill his soul and the wings of his spirit. But in man there is more of the child than in the youth, and less ofmelancholy: better understandeth he about life and death. Free for death, and free in death; a holy Naysayer, when there is nolonger time for Yea: thus understandeth he about death and life. That your dying may not be a reproach to man and the earth, myfriends: that do I solicit from the honey of your soul. In your dying shall your spirit and your virtue still shine likean evening after-glow around the earth: otherwise your dying hath beenunsatisfactory. Thus will I die myself, that ye friends may love the earth morefor my sake; and earth will I again become, to have rest in her thatbore me. Verily, a goal had Zarathustra; he threw his ball. Now be ye friendsthe heirs of my goal; to you throw I the golden ball. Best of all, do I see you, my friends, throw the golden ball! And sotarry I still a little while on the earth- pardon me for it!

Thus spake Zarathustra. 22. The Bestowing Virtue

1.

WHEN Zarathustra had taken leave of the town to which his heartwas attached, the name of which is "The Pied Cow," there followedhim many people who called themselves his disciples, and kept himcompany. Thus came they to a crossroads. Then Zarathustra told themthat he now wanted to go alone; for he was fond of going alone. Hisdisciples, however, presented him at his departure with a staff, onthe golden handle of which a serpent twined round the sun. Zarathustrarejoiced on account of the staff, and supported himself thereon;then spake he thus to his disciples: Tell me, pray: how came gold to the highest value? Because it isuncommon, and unprofiting, and beaming, and soft in lustre; italways bestoweth itself. Only as image of the highest virtue came gold to the highestvalue. Goldlike, beameth the glance of the bestower. Gold-lustremaketh peace between moon and sun. Uncommon is the highest virtue, and unprofiting, beaming is it,and soft of lustre: a bestowing virtue is the highest virtue. Verily, I divine you well, my disciples: ye strive like me for thebestowing virtue. What should ye have in common with cats and wolves? It is your thirst to become sacrifices and gifts yourselves: andtherefore have ye the thirst to accumulate all riches in your soul. Insatiably striveth your soul for treasures and jewels, because yourvirtue is insatiable in desiring to bestow. Ye constrain all things to flow towards you and into you, so thatthey shall flow back again out of your fountain as the gifts of yourlove. Verily, an appropriator of all values must such bestowing. lovebecome; but healthy and holy, call I this selfishness.- Another selfishness is there, an all-too-poor and hungry kind, whichwould always steal- the selfishness of the sick, the sicklyselfishness. With the eye of the thief it looketh upon all that is lustrous; withthe craving of hunger it measureth him who hath abundance; and everdoth it prowl round the tables of bestowers. Sickness speaketh in such craving, and invisible degeneration; ofa sickly body, speaketh the larcenous craving of this selfishness. Tell me, my brother, what do we think bad, and worst of all? Is itnot degeneration?- And we always suspect degeneration when thebestowing soul is lacking. Upward goeth our course from genera on to super-genera. But a horrorto us is the degenerating sense, which saith: "All for myself." Upward soareth our sense: thus is it a simile of our body, asimile of an elevation. Such similes of elevations are the names ofthe virtues. Thus goeth the body through history, a becomer and fighter. Andthe spirit- what is it to the body? Its fights' and victories' herald,its companion and echo. Similes, are all names of good and evil; they do not speak out, theyonly hint. A fool who seeketh knowledge from them! Give heed, my brethren, to every hour when your spirit would speakin similes: there is the origin of your virtue. Elevated is then your body, and raised up; with its delight,enraptureth it the spirit; so that it becometh creator, and valuer,and lover, and everything's benefactor. When your heart overfloweth broad and full like the river, ablessing and a danger to the lowlanders: there is the origin of yourvirtue. When ye are exalted above praise and blame, and your will wouldcommand all things, as a loving one's will: there is the origin ofyour virtue. When ye despise pleasant things, and the effeminate couch, andcannot couch far enough from the effeminate: there is the origin ofyour virtue. When ye are willers of one will, and when that change of everyneed is needful to you: there is the origin of your virtue. Verily, a new good and evil is it! Verily, a new deep murmuring, andthe voice of a new fountain! Power is it, this new virtue; a ruling thought is it, and aroundit a subtle soul: a golden sun, with the serpent of knowledge aroundit.

2.

Here paused Zarathustra awhile, and looked lovingly on hisdisciples. Then he continued to speak thus- and his voice had changed: Remain true to the earth, my brethren, with the power of yourvirtue! Let your bestowing love and your knowledge be devoted to bethe meaning of the earth! Thus do I pray and conjure you. Let it not fly away from the earthly and beat against eternalwalls with its wings! Ah, there hath always been so much flown-awayvirtue! Lead, like me, the flown-away virtue back to the earth- yea, back tobody and life: that it may give to the earth its meaning, a humanmeaning! A hundred times hitherto hath spirit as well as virtue flown awayand blundered. Alas! in our body dwelleth still all this delusionand blundering: body and will hath it there become. A hundred times hitherto hath spirit as well as virtue attempted anderred. Yea, an attempt hath man been. Alas, much ignorance and errorhath become embodied in us! Not only the rationality of millennia- also their madness,breaketh out in us. Dangerous is it to be an heir. Still fight we step by step with the giant Chance, and over allmankind hath hitherto ruled nonsense, the lack-of-sense. Let your spirit and your virtue be devoted to the sense of theearth, my brethren: let the value of everything be determined anewby you! Therefore shall ye be fighters! Therefore shall ye becreators! Intelligently doth the body purify itself; attempting withintelligence it exalteth itself; to the discerners all impulsessanctify themselves; to the exalted the soul becometh joyful. Physician, heal thyself: then wilt thou also heal thy patient. Letit be his best cure to see with his eyes him who maketh himself whole. A thousand paths are there which have never yet been trodden; athousand salubrities and hidden islands of life. Unexhausted andundiscovered is still man and man's world. Awake and hearken, ye lonesome ones! From the future come winds withstealthy pinions, and to fine ears good tidings are proclaimed. Ye lonesome ones of today, ye seceding ones, ye shall one day be apeople: out of you who have chosen yourselves, shall a chosen peoplearise:- and out of it the Superman. Verily, a place of healing shall the earth become! And already isa new odour diffused around it, a salvation-bringing odour- and anew hope!

3.

When Zarathustra had spoken these words, he paused, like one who hadnot said his last word; and long did he balance the staff doubtfullyin his hand. At last he spake thus- and his voice had changed: I now go alone, my disciples! Ye also now go away, and alone! Sowill I have it. Verily, I advise you: depart from me, and guard yourselves againstZarathustra! And better still: be ashamed of him! Perhaps he hathdeceived you. The man of knowledge must be able not only to love his enemies,but also to hate his friends. One requiteth a teacher badly if one remain merely a scholar. Andwhy will ye not pluck at my wreath? Ye venerate me; but what if your veneration should some daycollapse? Take heed lest a statue crush you! Ye say, ye believe in Zarathustra? But of what account isZarathustra! Ye are my believers: but of what account are allbelievers! Ye had not yet sought yourselves: then did ye find me. So do allbelievers; therefore all belief is of so little account. Now do I bid you lose me and find yourselves; and only when yehave all denied me, will I return unto you. Verily, with other eyes, my brethren, shall I then seek my lostones; with another love shall I then love you. And once again shall ye have become friends unto me, and children ofone hope: then will I be with you for the third time, to celebrate thegreat noontide with you. And it is the great noontide, when man is in the middle of hiscourse between animal and Superman, and celebrateth his advance to theevening as his highest hope: for it is the advance to a new morning. At such time will the down-goer bless himself, that he should bean over-goer; and the sun of his knowledge will be at noontide. "Dead are all the Gods: now do we desire the Superman to live."- Letthis be our final will at the great noontide!-

Thus spake Zarathustra. SECOND PART.

"-and only when ye have all denied me, will I return unto you. Verily, with other eyes, my brethren, shall I then seek my lostones; with another love shall I then love you."- ZARATHUSTRA, I., "TheBestowing Virtue."

23. The Child with the Mirror

AFTER this Zarathustra returned again into the mountains to thesolitude of his cave, and withdrew himself from men, waiting like asower who hath scattered his seed. His soul, however, became impatientand full of longing for those whom he loved: because he had still muchto give them. For this is hardest of all: to close the open hand outof love, and keep modest as a giver. Thus passed with the lonesome one months and years; his wisdommeanwhile increased, and caused him pain by its abundance. One morning, however, he awoke ere the rosy dawn, and havingmeditated long on his couch, at last spake thus to his heart: Why did I startle in my dream, so that I awoke? Did not a child cometo me, carrying a mirror? "O Zarathustra"- said the child unto me- "look at thyself in themirror!" But when I looked into the mirror, I shrieked, and my heartthrobbed: for not myself did I see therein, but a devil's grimaceand derision. Verily, all too well do I understand the dream's portent andmonition: my doctrine is in danger; tares want to be called wheat! Mine enemies have grown powerful and have disfigured the likeness ofmy doctrine, so that my dearest ones have to blush for the giftsthat I gave them. Lost are my friends; the hour hath come for me to seek my lostones!- With these words Zarathustra started up, not however like a personin anguish seeking relief, but rather like a seer and a singer whomthe spirit inspireth. With amazement did his eagle and serpent gazeupon him: for a coming bliss overspread his countenance like therosy dawn. What hath happened unto me, mine animals?- said Zarathustra. Am Inot transformed? Hath not bliss come unto me like a whirlwind? Foolish is my happiness, and foolish things will it speak: it isstill too young- so have patience with it! Wounded am I by my happiness: all sufferers shall be physicians untome! To my friends can I again go down, and also to mine enemies!Zarathustra can again speak and bestow, and show his best love tohis loved ones! My impatient love overfloweth in streams,- down towards sunriseand sunset. Out of silent mountains and storms of affliction,rusheth my soul into the valleys. Too long have I longed and looked into the distance. Too long hathsolitude possessed me: thus have I unlearned to keep silence. Utterance have I become altogether, and the brawling of a brook fromhigh rocks: downward into the valleys will I hurl my speech. And let the stream of my love sweep into unfrequented channels!How should a stream not finally find its way to the sea! Forsooth, there is a lake in me, sequestered and self-sufficing; butthe stream of my love beareth this along with it, down- to the sea! New paths do I tread, a new speech cometh unto me; tired have Ibecome- like all creators- of the old tongues. No longer will myspirit walk on worn-out soles. Too slowly runneth all speaking for me:- into thy chariot, Ostorm, do I leap! And even thee will I whip with my spite! Like a cry and an huzza will I traverse wide seas, till I find theHappy Isles where my friends sojourn;- And mine enemies amongst them! How I now love every one unto whomI may but speak! Even mine enemies pertain to my bliss. And when I want to mount my wildest horse, then doth my spear alwayshelp me up best: it is my foot's ever ready servant:- The spear which I hurl at mine enemies! How grateful am I to mineenemies that I may at last hurl it! Too great hath been the tension of my cloud: 'twixt laughters oflightnings will I cast hail-showers into the depths. Violently will my breast then heave; violently will it blow itsstorm over the mountains: thus cometh its assuagement. Verily, like a storm cometh my happiness, and my freedom! But mineenemies shall think that the evil one roareth over their heads. Yea, ye also, my friends, will be alarmed by my wild wisdom; andperhaps ye will flee therefrom, along with mine enemies. Ah, that I knew how to lure you back with shepherds' flutes! Ah,that my lioness wisdom would learn to roar softly! And much have wealready learned with one another! My wild wisdom became pregnant on the lonesome mountains; on therough stones did she bear the youngest of her young. Now runneth she foolishly in the arid wilderness, and seeketh andseeketh the soft sward- mine old, wild wisdom! On the soft sward of your hearts, my friends!- on your love, wouldshe fain couch her dearest one!-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 24. In the Happy Isles

THE figs fall from the trees, they are good and sweet; and infalling the red skins of them break. A north wind am I to ripe figs. Thus, like figs, do these doctrines fall for you, my friends: imbibenow their juice and their sweet substance! It is autumn all around,and clear sky, and afternoon. Lo, what fullness is around us! And out of the midst ofsuperabundance, it is delightful to look out upon distant seas. Once did people say God, when they looked out upon distant seas;now, however, have I taught you to say, Superman. God is a conjecture: but I do not wish your conjecturing to reachbeyond your creating will. Could ye create a God?- Then, I pray you, be silent about allgods! But ye could well create the Superman. Not perhaps ye yourselves, my brethren! But into fathers andforefathers of the Superman could ye transform yourselves: and letthat be your best creating!- God is a conjecture: but I should like your conjecturingrestricted to the conceivable. Could ye conceive a God?- But let this mean Will to Truth untoyou, that everything be transformed into the humanly conceivable,the humanly visible, the humanly sensible! Your own discernmentshall ye follow out to the end! And what ye have called the world shall but be created by you:your reason, your likeness, your will, your love, shall it itselfbecome! And verily, for your bliss, ye discerning ones! And how would ye endure life without that hope, ye discerningones? Neither in the inconceivable could ye have been born, nor in theirrational. But that I may reveal my heart entirely unto you, my friends: ifthere were gods, how could I endure it to be no God! Therefore thereare no gods. Yea, I have drawn the conclusion; now, however, doth it draw me.- God is a conjecture: but who could drink all the bitterness ofthis conjecture without dying? Shall his faith be taken from thecreating one, and from the eagle his flights into eagle-heights? God is a thought- it maketh all the straight crooked, and all thatstandeth reel. What? Time would be gone, and all the perishablewould be but a lie? To think this is giddiness and vertigo to human limbs, and evenvomiting to the stomach: verily, the reeling sickness do I call it, toconjecture such a thing. Evil do I call it and misanthropic: all that teaching about the one,and the plenum, and the unmoved, and the sufficient, and theimperishable! All the imperishable- that's but a simile, and the poets lie toomuch.- But of time and of becoming shall the best similes speak: a praiseshall they be, and a justification of all perishableness! Creating- that is the great salvation from suffering, and life'salleviation. But for the creator to appear, suffering itself isneeded, and much transformation. Yea, much bitter dying must there be in your life, ye creators! Thusare ye advocates and justifiers of all perishableness. For the creator himself to be the new-born child, he must also bewilling to be the child-bearer, and endure the pangs of thechild-bearer. Verily, through a hundred souls went I my way, and through a hundredcradles and birth-throes. Many a farewell have I taken; I know theheart-breaking last hours. But so willeth it my creating Will, my fate. Or, to tell you it morecandidly: just such a fate- willeth my Will. All feeling suffereth in me, and is in prison: but my willing evercometh to me as mine emancipator and comforter. Willing emancipateth: that is the true doctrine of will andemancipation- so teacheth you Zarathustra. No longer willing, and no longer valuing, and no longer creating!Ah, that that great debility may ever be far from me! And also in discerning do I feel only my will's procreating andevolving delight; and if there be innocence in my knowledge, it isbecause there is will to procreation in it. Away from God and gods did this will allure me; what would therebe to create if there were- gods! But to man doth it ever impel me anew, my fervent creative will;thus impelleth it the hammer to the stone. Ah, ye men, within the stone slumbereth an image for me, the imageof my visions! Ah, that it should slumber in the hardest, uglieststone! Now rageth my hammer ruthlessly against its prison. From the stonefly the fragments: what's that to me? I will complete it: for a shadow came unto me- the stillest andlightest of all things once came unto me! The beauty of the superman came unto me as a shadow. Ah, mybrethren! Of what account now are- the gods to me!-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 25. The Pitiful

MY FRIENDS, there hath arisen a satire on your friend: "BeholdZarathustra! Walketh he not amongst us as if amongst animals?" But it is better said in this wise: "The discerning one walkethamongst men as amongst animals." Man himself is to the discerning one: the animal with red cheeks. How hath that happened unto him? Is it not because he hath had to beashamed too oft? O my friends! Thus speaketh the discerning one: shame, shame, shame-that is the history of man! And on that account doth the noble one enjoin on himself not toabash: bashfulness doth he enjoin himself in presence of allsufferers. Verily, I like them not, the merciful ones, whose bliss is intheir pity: too destitute are they of bashfulness. If I must be pitiful, I dislike to be called so; and if I be so,it is preferably at a distance. Preferably also do I shroud my head, and flee, before beingrecognised: and thus do I bid you do, my friends! May my destiny ever lead unafflicted ones like you across my path,and those with whom I may have hope and repast and honey in common! Verily, I have done this and that for the afflicted: but somethingbetter did I always seem to do when I had learned to enjoy myselfbetter. Since humanity came into being, man hath enjoyed himself too little:that alone, my brethren, is our original sin! And when we learn better to enjoy ourselves, then do we unlearn bestto give pain unto others, and to contrive pain. Therefore do I wash the hand that hath helped the sufferer;therefore do I wipe also my soul. For in seeing the sufferer suffering- thereof was I ashamed onaccount of his shame; and in helping him, sorely did I wound hispride. Great obligations do not make grateful, but revengeful; and when asmall kindness is not forgotten, it becometh a gnawing worm. "Be shy in accepting! Distinguish by accepting!"- thus do I advisethose who have naught to bestow. I, however, am a bestower: willingly do I bestow as friend tofriends. Strangers, however, and the poor, may pluck for themselvesthe fruit from my tree: thus doth it cause less shame. Beggars, however, one should entirely do away with! Verily, itannoyeth one to give unto them, and it annoyeth one not to give untothem. And likewise sinners and bad consciences! Believe me, my friends:the sting of conscience teacheth one to sting. The worst things, however, are the petty thoughts. Verily, better tohave done evilly than to have thought pettily! To be sure, ye say: "The delight in petty evils spareth one many agreat evil deed." But here one should not wish to be sparing. Like a boil is the evil deed: it itcheth and irritateth and breakethforth- it speaketh honourably. "Behold, I am disease," saith the evil deed: that is itshonourableness. But like infection is the petty thought: it creepeth and hideth, andwanteth to be nowhere- until the whole body is decayed and withered bythe petty infection. To him however, who is possessed of a devil, I would whisper thisword in the ear: "Better for thee to rear up thy devil! Even forthee there is still a path to greatness!"- Ah, my brethren! One knoweth a little too much about every one!And many a one becometh transparent to us, but still we can by nomeans penetrate him. It is difficult to live among men because silence is so difficult. And not to him who is offensive to us are we most unfair, but to himwho doth not concern us at all. If, however, thou hast a suffering friend, then be a resting-placefor his suffering; like a hard bed, however, a camp-bed: thus wiltthou serve him best. And if a friend doeth thee wrong, then say: "I forgive thee whatthou hast done unto me; that thou hast done it unto thyself,however- how could I forgive that!" Thus speaketh all great love: it surpasseth even forgiveness andpity. One should hold fast one's heart; for when one letteth it go, howquickly doth one's head run away! Ah, where in the world have there been greater follies than with thepitiful? And what in the world hath caused more suffering than thefollies of the pitiful? Woe unto all loving ones who have not an elevation which is abovetheir pity! Thus spake the devil unto me, once on a time: "Even God hath hishell: it is his love for man." And lately, did I hear him say these words: "God is dead: of hispity for man hath God died."- So be ye warned against pity: from thence there yet cometh untomen a heavy cloud! Verily, I understand weather-signs! But attend also to this word: All great love is above all itspity: for it seeketh- to create what is loved! "Myself do I offer unto my love, and my neighbour as myself"- suchis the language of all creators. All creators, however, are hard.-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 26. The Priests

AND one day Zarathustra made a sign to his disciples and spake thesewords unto them: "Here are priests: but although they are mine enemies, pass themquietly and with sleeping swords! Even among them there are heroes; many of them have suffered toomuch:- so they want to make others suffer. Bad enemies are they: nothing is more revengeful than theirmeekness. And readily doth he soil himself who toucheth them. But my blood is related to theirs; and I want withal to see my bloodhonoured in theirs."- And when they had passed, a pain attacked Zarathustra; but notlong had he struggled with the pain, when he began to speak thus: It moveth my heart for those priests. They also go against my taste;but that is the smallest matter unto me, since I am among men. But I suffer and have suffered with them: prisoners are they untome, and stigmatised ones. He whom they call Saviour put them infetters:- In fetters of false values and fatuous words! Oh, that some onewould save them from their Saviour! On an isle they once thought they had landed, when the sea tossedthem about; but behold, it was a slumbering monster! False values and fatuous words: these are the worst monsters formortals- long slumbereth and waiteth the fate that is in them. But at last it cometh and awaketh and devoureth and engulfethwhatever hath built tabernacles upon it. Oh, just look at those tabernacles which those priests have builtthemselves! Churches, they call their sweet-smelling caves! Oh, that falsified light, that mustified air! Where the soul- maynot fly aloft to its height! But so enjoineth their belief: "On your knees, up the stair, yesinners!" Verily, rather would I see a shameless one than the distorted eyesof their shame and devotion! Who created for themselves such caves and penitence-stairs? Was itnot those who sought to conceal themselves, and were ashamed under theclear sky? And only when the clear sky looketh again through ruined roofs,and down upon grass and red poppies on ruined walls- will I again turnmy heart to the seats of this God. They called God that which opposed and afflicted them: and verily,there was much hero-spirit in their worship! And they knew not how to love their God otherwise than by nailingmen to the cross! As corpses they thought to live; in black draped they their corpses;even in their talk do I still feel the evil flavour of charnel-houses. And he who liveth nigh unto them liveth nigh unto black pools,wherein the toad singeth his song with sweet gravity. Better songs would they have to sing, for me to believe in theirSaviour: more! like saved ones would his disciples have to appear untome! Naked, would I like to see them: for beauty alone should preachpenitence. But whom would that disguised affliction convince! Verily, their saviours themselves came not from freedom andfreedom's seventh heaven! Verily, they themselves never trod thecarpets of knowledge! Of defects did the spirit of those saviours consist; but intoevery defect had they put their illusion, their stop-gap, which theycalled God. In their pity was their spirit drowned; and when they swelled ando'erswelled with pity, there always floated to the surface a greatfolly. Eagerly and with shouts drove they their flock over theirfoot-bridge; as if there were but one foot-bridge to the future!Verily, those shepherds also were still of the flock! Small spirits and spacious souls had those shepherds: but, mybrethren, what small domains have even the most spacious soulshitherto been! Characters of blood did they write on the way they went, and theirfolly taught that truth is proved by blood. But blood is the very worst witness to truth; blood tainteth thepurest teaching, and turneth it into delusion and hatred of heart. And when a person goeth through fire for his teaching- what doththat prove! It is more, verily, when out of one's own burning comethone's own teaching! Sultry heart and cold head; where these meet, there ariseth theblusterer, the "Saviour." Greater ones, verily, have there been, and higher-born ones, thanthose whom the people call saviours, those rapturous blusterers! And by still greater ones than any of the saviours must ye be saved,my brethren, if ye would find the way to freedom! Never yet hath there been a Superman. Naked have I seen both ofthem, the greatest man and the smallest man:- All-too-similar are they still to each other. Verily, even thegreatest found I- all-too-human!-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 27. The Virtuous

WITH thunder and heavenly fireworks must one speak to indolent andsomnolent senses. But beauty's voice speaketh gently: it appealeth only to the mostawakened souls. Gently vibrated and laughed unto me to-day my buckler; it wasbeauty's holy laughing and thrilling. At you, ye virtuous ones, laughed my beauty to-day. And thus cameits voice unto me: "They want- to be paid besides!" Ye want to be paid besides, ye virtuous ones! Ye want reward forvirtue, and heaven for earth, and eternity for your to-day? And now ye upbraid me for teaching that there is no reward-giver,nor paymaster? And verily, I do not even teach that virtue is itsown reward. Ah! this is my sorrow: into the basis of things have reward andpunishment been insinuated- and now even into the basis of your souls,ye virtuous ones! But like the snout of the boar shall my word grub up the basis ofyour souls; a ploughshare will I be called by you. All the secrets of your heart shall be brought to light; and when yelie in the sun, grubbed up and broken, then will also your falsehoodbe separated from your truth. For this is your truth: ye are too pure for the filth of thewords: vengeance, punishment, recompense, retribution. Ye love your virtue as a mother loveth her child; but when did onehear of a mother wanting to be paid for her love? It is your dearest Self, your virtue. The ring's thirst is in you:to reach itself again struggleth every ring, and turneth itself. And like the star that goeth out, so is every work of your virtue:ever is its light on its way and travelling- and when will it cease tobe on its way? Thus is the light of your virtue still on its way, even when itswork is done. Be it forgotten and dead, still its ray of lightliveth and travelleth. That your virtue is your Self, and not an outward thing, a skin,or a cloak: that is the truth from the basis of your souls, yevirtuous ones!- But sure enough there are those to whom virtue meaneth writhingunder the lash: and ye have hearkened too much unto their crying! And others are there who call virtue the slothfulness of theirvices; and when once their hatred and jealousy relax the limbs,their "justice" becometh lively and rubbeth its sleepy eyes. And others are there who are drawn downwards: their devils drawthem. But the more they sink, the more ardently gloweth their eye, andthe longing for their God. Ah! their crying also hath reached your ears, ye virtuous ones:"What I am not, that, that is God to me, and virtue!" And others are there who go along heavily and creakingly, like cartstaking stones downhill: they talk much of dignity and virtue- theirdrag they call virtue! And others are there who are like eight-day clocks when wound up;they tick, and want people to call ticking- virtue. Verily, in those have I mine amusement: wherever I find suchclocks I shall wind them up with my mockery, and they shall even whirrthereby! And others are proud of their modicum of righteousness, and forthe sake of it do violence to all things: so that the world is drownedin their unrighteousness. Ah! how ineptly cometh the word "virtue" out of their mouth! Andwhen they say: "I am just," it always soundeth like: "I am just-revenged!" With their virtues they want to scratch out the eyes of theirenemies; and they elevate themselves only that they may lower others. And again there are those who sit in their swamp, and speak thusfrom among the bulrushes: "Virtue- that is to sit quietly in theswamp. We bite no one, and go out of the way of him who would bite; andin all matters we have the opinion that is given us." And again there are those who love attitudes, and think thatvirtue is a sort of attitude. Their knees continually adore, and their hands are eulogies ofvirtue, but their heart knoweth naught thereof. And again there are those who regard it as virtue to say: "Virtue isnecessary"; but after all they believe only that policemen arenecessary. And many a one who cannot see men's loftiness, calleth it virtueto see their baseness far too well: thus calleth he his evil eyevirtue.- And some want to be edified and raised up, and call it virtue: andothers want to be cast down,- and likewise call it virtue. And thus do almost all think that they participate in virtue; and atleast every one claimeth to be an authority on "good" and "evil." But Zarathustra came not to say unto all those liars and fools:"What do ye know of virtue! What could ye know of virtue!"- But that ye, my friends, might become weary of the old words whichye have learned from the fools and liars: That ye might become weary of the words "reward," "retribution,""punishment," "righteous vengeance."- That ye might become weary of saying: "That an action is good isbecause it is unselfish." Ah! my friends! That your very Self be in your action, as the motheris in the child: let that be your formula of virtue! Verily, I have taken from you a hundred formulae and your virtue'sfavourite playthings; and now ye upbraid me, as children upbraid. They played by the sea- then came there a wave and swept theirplaythings into the deep: and now do they cry. But the same wave shall bring them new playthings, and spread beforethem new speckled shells! Thus will they be comforted; and like them shall ye also, myfriends, have your comforting- and new speckled shells!-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 28. The Rabble

LIFE is a well of delight; but where the rabble also drink, thereall fountains are poisoned. To everything cleanly am I well disposed; but I hate to see thegrinning mouths and the thirst of the unclean. They cast their eye down into the fountain: and now glanceth up tome their odious smile out of the fountain. The holy water have they poisoned with their lustfulness; and whenthey called their filthy dreams delight, then poisoned they also thewords. Indignant becometh the flame when they put their damp hearts tothe fire; the spirit itself bubbleth and smoketh when the rabbleapproach the fire. Mawkish and over-mellow becometh the fruit in their hands: unsteady,and withered at the top, doth their look make the fruit-tree. And many a one who hath turned away from life, hath only turned awayfrom the rabble: he hated to share with them fountain, flame, andfruit. And many a one who hath gone into the wilderness and suffered thirstwith beasts of prey, disliked only to sit at the cistern with filthycamel-drivers. And many a one who hath come along as a destroyer, and as ahailstorm to all cornfields, wanted merely to put his foot into thejaws of the rabble, and thus stop their throat. And it is not the mouthful which hath most choked me, to know thatlife itself requireth enmity and death and torture-crosses:- But I asked once, and suffocated almost with my question: What? Isthe rabble also necessary for life? Are poisoned fountains necessary, and stinking fires, and filthydreams, and maggots in the bread of life? Not my hatred, but my loathing, gnawed hungrily at my life! Ah,ofttimes became I weary of spirit, when I found even the rabblespiritual! And on the rulers turned I my back, when I saw what they now callruling: to traffic and bargain for power- with the rabble! Amongst peoples of a strange language did I dwell, with stoppedears: so that the language of their trafficking might remain strangeunto me, and their bargaining for power. And holding my nose, I went morosely through all yesterdays andtodays: verily, badly smell all yesterdays and todays of thescribbling rabble! Like a cripple become deaf, and blind, and dumb- thus have I livedlong; that I might not live with the power-rabble, thescribe-rabble, and the pleasure-rabble. Toilsomely did my spirit mount stairs, and cautiously; alms ofdelight were its refreshment; on the staff did life creep along withthe blind one. What hath happened unto me? How have I freed myself from loathing?Who hath rejuvenated mine eye? How have I flown to the height where norabble any longer sit at the wells? Did my loathing itself create for me wings and fountain-diviningpowers? Verily, to the loftiest height had I to fly, to find again thewell of delight! Oh, I have found it, my brethren! Here on the loftiest heightbubbleth up for me the well of delight! And there is a life at whosewaters none of the rabble drink with me! Almost too violently dost thou flow for me, thou fountain ofdelight! And often emptiest thou the goblet again, in wanting tofill it! And yet must I learn to approach thee more modestly: far tooviolently doth my heart still flow towards thee:- My heart on which my summer burneth, my short, hot, melancholy,over-happy summer: how my summer heart longeth for thy coolness! Past, the lingering distress of my spring! Past, the wickedness ofmy snowflakes in June! Summer have I become entirely, andsummer-noontide! A summer on the loftiest height, with cold fountains and blissfulstillness: oh, come, my friends, that the stillness may become moreblissful! For this is our height and our home: too high and steep do we heredwell for all uncleanly ones and their thirst. Cast but your pure eyes into the well of my delight, my friends! Howcould it become turbid thereby! It shall laugh back to you with itspurity. On the tree of the future build we our nest; eagles shall bring uslone ones food in their beaks! Verily, no food of which the impure could be fellow-partakers! Fire,would they think they devoured, and burn their mouths! Verily, no abodes do we here keep ready for the impure! Anice-cave to their bodies would our happiness be, and to their spirits! And as strong winds will we live above them, neighbours to theeagles, neighbours to the snow, neighbours to the sun: thus live thestrong winds. And like a wind will I one day blow amongst them, and with myspirit, take the breath from their spirit: thus willeth my future. Verily, a strong wind is Zarathustra to all low places; and thiscounsel counselleth he to his enemies, and to whatever spitteth andspeweth: "Take care not to spit against the wind!"-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 29. The Tarantulas

LO, THIS is the tarantula's den! Would'st thou see the tarantulaitself? Here hangeth its web: touch this, so that it may tremble. There cometh the tarantula willingly: Welcome, tarantula! Black onthy back is thy triangle and symbol; and I know also what is in thysoul. Revenge is in thy soul: wherever thou bitest, there ariseth blackscab; with revenge, thy poison maketh the soul giddy! Thus do I speak unto you in parable, ye who make the soul giddy,ye preachers of equality! Tarantulas are ye unto me, and secretlyrevengeful ones! But I will soon bring your hiding-places to the light: thereforedo I laugh in your face my laughter of the height. Therefore do I tear at your web, that your rage may lure you outof your den of lies, and that your revenge may leap forth frombehind your word "justice." Because, for man to be redeemed from revenge- that is for me thebridge to the highest hope, and a rainbow after long storms. Otherwise, however, would the tarantulas have it. "Let it be veryjustice for the world to become full of the storms of ourvengeance"- thus do they talk to one another. "Vengeance will we use, and insult, against all who are not likeus"- thus do the tarantula-hearts pledge themselves. "And 'Will to Equality'- that itself shall henceforth be the name ofvirtue; and against all that hath power will we raise an outcry!" Ye preachers of equality, the tyrant-frenzy of impotence crieth thusin you for "equality": your most secret tyrant-longings disguisethemselves thus in virtue-words! Fretted conceit and suppressed envy- perhaps your fathers' conceitand envy: in you break they forth as flame and frenzy of vengeance. What the father hath hid cometh out in the son; and oft have I foundin the son the father's revealed secret. Inspired ones they resemble: but it is not the heart thatinspireth them- but vengeance. And when they become subtle and cold,it is not spirit, but envy, that maketh them so. Their jealousy leadeth them also into thinkers' paths; and this isthe sign of their jealousy- they always go too far: so that theirfatigue hath at last to go to sleep on the snow. In all their lamentations soundeth vengeance, in all theireulogies is maleficence; and being judge seemeth to them bliss. But thus do I counsel you, my friends: distrust all in whom theimpulse to punish is powerful! They are people of bad race and lineage; out of their countenancespeer the hangman and the sleuth-hound. Distrust all those who talk much of their justice! Verily, intheir souls not only honey is lacking. And when they call themselves "the good and just," forget not,that for them to be Pharisees, nothing is lacking but- power! My friends, I will not be mixed up and confounded with others. There are those who preach my doctrine of life, and are at thesame time preachers of equality, and tarantulas. That they speak in favour of life, though they sit in their den,these poison-spiders, and withdrawn from life- is because they wouldthereby do injury. To those would they thereby do injury who have power at present: forwith those the preaching of death is still most at home. Were it otherwise, then would the tarantulas teach otherwise: andthey themselves were formerly the best world-maligners andheretic-burners. With these preachers of equality will I not be mixed up andconfounded. For thus speaketh justice unto me: "Men are not equal." And neither shall they become so! What would be my love to theSuperman, if I spake otherwise? On a thousand bridges and piers shall they throng to the future, andalways shall there be more war and inequality among them: thus doth mygreat love make me speak! Inventors of figures and phantoms shall they be in theirhostilities; and with those figures and phantoms shall they yetfight with each other the supreme fight! Good and evil, and rich and poor, and high and low, and all names ofvalues: weapons shall they be, and sounding signs, that life mustagain and again surpass itself! Aloft will it build itself with columns and stairs- life itself intoremote distances would it gaze, and out towards blissful beauties-therefore doth it require elevation! And because it requireth elevation, therefore doth it require steps,and variance of steps and climbers! To rise striveth life, and inrising to surpass itself. And just behold, my friends! Here where the tarantula's den is,riseth aloft an ancient temple's ruins- just behold it withenlightened eyes! Verily, he who here towered aloft his thoughts in stone, knew aswell as the wisest ones about the secret of life! That there is struggle and inequality even in beauty, and war forpower and supremacy: that doth he here teach us in the plainestparable. How divinely do vault and arch here contrast in the struggle: howwith light and shade they strive against each other, the divinelystriving ones.- Thus, steadfast and beautiful, let us also be enemies, my friends!Divinely will we strive against one another!- Alas! There hath the tarantula bit me myself, mine old enemy!Divinely steadfast and beautiful, it hath bit me on the finger! "Punishment must there be, and justice"- so thinketh it: "notgratuitously shall he here sing songs in honour of enmity!" Yea, it hath revenged itself! And alas! now will it make my soulalso dizzy with revenge! That I may not turn dizzy, however, bind me fast, my friends, tothis pillar! Rather will I be a pillar-saint than a whirl ofvengeance! Verily, no cyclone or whirlwind is Zarathustra: and if he be adancer, he is not at all a tarantula-dancer!-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 30. The Famous Wise Ones

THE people have ye served and the people's superstition- not thetruth!- all ye famous wise ones! And just on that account did they payyou reverence. And on that account also did they tolerate your unbelief, because itwas a pleasantry and a by-path for the people. Thus doth the mastergive free scope to his slaves, and even enjoyeth theirpresumptuousness. But he who is hated by the people, as the wolf by the dogs- is thefree spirit, the enemy of fetters, the non-adorer, the dweller inthe woods. To hunt him out of his lair- that was always called "sense of right"by the people: on him do they still hound their sharpest-toothed dogs. "For there the truth is, where the people are! Woe, woe to theseeking ones!"- thus hath it echoed through all time. Your people would ye justify in their reverence: that called ye"Will to Truth," ye famous wise ones! And your heart hath always said to itself: "From the people have Icome: from thence came to me also the voice of God." Stiff-necked and artful, like the ass, have ye always been, as theadvocates of the people. And many a powerful one who wanted to run well with the people, hathharnessed in front of his horses- a donkey, a famous wise man. And now, ye famous wise ones, I would have you finally throw offentirely the skin of the lion! The skin of the beast of prey, the speckled skin, and thedishevelled locks of the investigator, the searcher, and theconqueror! Ah! for me to learn to believe in your "conscientiousness," ye wouldfirst have to break your venerating will. Conscientious- so call I him who goeth into God-forsakenwildernesses, and hath broken his venerating heart. In the yellow sands and burnt by the sun, he doubtless peereththirstily at the isles rich in fountains, where life reposeth undershady trees. But his thirst doth not persuade him to become like thosecomfortable ones: for where there are oases, there are also idols. Hungry, fierce, lonesome, God-forsaken: so doth the lion-will wishitself. Free from the happiness of slaves, redeemed from deities andadorations, fearless and fear-inspiring, grand and lonesome: so is thewill of the conscientious. In the wilderness have ever dwelt the conscientious, the freespirits, as lords of the wilderness; but in the cities dwell thewell-foddered, famous wise ones- the draught-beasts. For, always do they draw, as asses- the people's carts! Not that I on that account upbraid them: but serving ones do theyremain, and harnessed ones, even though they glitter in goldenharness. And often have they been good servants and worthy of their hire. Forthus saith virtue: "If thou must be a servant, seek him unto whomthy service is most useful! The spirit and virtue of thy master shall advance by thou being hisservant: thus wilt thou thyself advance with his spirit and virtue!" And verily, ye famous wise ones, ye servants of the people! Yeyourselves have advanced with the people's spirit and virtue- andthe people by you! To your honour do I say it! But the people ye remain for me, even with your virtues, thepeople with purblind eyes- the people who know not what spirit is! Spirit is life which itself cutteth into life: by its own torturedoth it increase its own knowledge,- did ye know that before? And the spirit's happiness is this: to be anointed and consecratedwith tears as a sacrificial victim,- did ye know that before? And the blindness of the blind one, and his seeking and groping,shall yet testify to the power of the sun into which he hath gazed,-did ye know that before? And with mountains shall the discerning one learn to build! It isa small thing for the spirit to remove mountains,- did ye know thatbefore? Ye know only the sparks of the spirit: but ye do not see the anvilwhich it is, and the cruelty of its hammer! Verily, ye know not the spirit's pride! But still less could yeendure the spirit's humility, should it ever want to speak! And never yet could ye cast your spirit into a pit of snow: ye arenot hot enough for that! Thus are ye unaware, also, of the delightof its coldness. In all respects, however, ye make too familiar with the spirit;and out of wisdom have ye often made an alms-house and a hospitalfor bad poets. Ye are not eagles: thus have ye never experienced the happiness ofthe alarm of the spirit. And he who is not a bird should not campabove abysses. Ye seem to me lukewarm ones: but coldly floweth all deepknowledge. Ice-cold are the innermost wells of the spirit: arefreshment to hot hands and handlers. Respectable do ye there stand, and stiff, and with straight backs,ye famous wise ones!- no strong wind or will impelleth you. Have ye ne'er seen a sail crossing the sea, rounded and inflated,and trembling with the violence of the wind? Like the sail trembling with the violence of the spirit, doth mywisdom cross the sea- my wild wisdom! But ye servants of the people, ye famous wise ones- how could yego with me!- Thus spake Zarathustra. 31. The Night-Song

'TIS night: now do all gushing fountains speak louder. And my soulalso is a gushing fountain. 'Tis night: now only do all songs of the loving ones awake. And mysoul also is the song of a loving one. Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within me; it longeth to findexpression. A craving for love is within me, which speaketh itself thelanguage of love. Light am I: ah, that I were night! But it is my lonesomeness to bebegirt with light! Ah, that I were dark and nightly! How would I suck at the breasts oflight! And you yourselves would I bless, ye twinkling starlets andglow-worms aloft!- and would rejoice in the gifts of your light. But I live in mine own light, I drink again into myself the flamesthat break forth from me. I know not the happiness of the receiver; and oft have I dreamt thatstealing must be more blessed than receiving. It is my poverty that my hand never ceaseth bestowing; it is mineenvy that I see waiting eyes and the brightened nights of longing. Oh, the misery of all bestowers! Oh, the darkening of my sun! Oh,the craving to crave! Oh, the violent hunger in satiety! They take from me: but do I yet touch their soul? There is a gap'twixt giving and receiving; and the smallest gap hath finally to bebridged over. A hunger ariseth out of my beauty: I should like to injure those Iillumine; I should like to rob those I have gifted:- thus do Ihunger for wickedness. Withdrawing my hand when another hand already stretcheth out toit; hesitating like the cascade, which hesitateth even in its leap:-thus do I hunger for wickedness! Such revenge doth mine abundance think of such mischief wellethout of my lonesomeness. My happiness in bestowing died in bestowing; my virtue becameweary of itself by its abundance! He who ever bestoweth is in danger of losing his shame; to him whoever dispenseth, the hand and heart become callous by very dispensing. Mine eye no longer overfloweth for the shame of suppliants; myhand hath become too hard for the trembling of filled hands. Whence have gone the tears of mine eye, and the down of my heart?Oh, the lonesomeness of all bestowers! Oh, the silence of allshining ones! Many suns circle in desert space: to all that is dark do theyspeak with their light- but to me they are silent. Oh, this is the hostility of light to the shining one: unpityinglydoth it pursue its course. Unfair to the shining one in its innermost heart, cold to the suns:-thus travelleth every sun. Like a storm do the suns pursue their courses: that is theirtravelling. Their inexorable will do they follow: that is theircoldness. Oh, ye only is it, ye dark, nightly ones, that extract warmth fromthe shining ones! Oh, ye only drink milk and refreshment from thelight's udders! Ah, there is ice around me; my hand burneth with the iciness! Ah,there is thirst in me; it panteth after your thirst! 'Tis night: alas, that I have to be light! And thirst for thenightly! And lonesomeness! 'Tis night: now doth my longing break forth in me as a fountain,-for speech do I long. 'Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak louder. And my soulalso is a gushing fountain. 'Tis night: now do all songs of loving ones awake. And my soulalso is the song of a loving one.-

Thus sang Zarathustra. 32. The Dance-Song

ONE evening went Zarathustra and his disciples through the forest;and when he sought for a well, lo, he lighted upon a green meadowpeacefully surrounded by trees and bushes, where maidens weredancing together. As soon as the maidens recognised Zarathustra,they ceased dancing; Zarathustra, however, approached them withfriendly mien and spake these words: Cease not your dancing, ye lovely maidens! No game-spoiler hath cometo you with evil eye, no enemy of maidens. God's advocate am I with the devil: he, however, is the spirit ofgravity. How could I, ye light-footed ones, be hostile to divinedances? Or to maidens' feet with fine ankles? To be sure, I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he whois not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under mycypresses. And even the little God may he find, who is dearest to maidens:beside the well lieth he quietly, with closed eyes. Verily, in broad daylight did he fall asleep, the sluggard! Had heperhaps chased butterflies too much? Upbraid me not, ye beautiful dancers, when I chasten the littleGod somewhat! He will cry, certainly, and weep- but he is laughableeven when weeping! And with tears in his eyes shall he ask you for a dance; and Imyself will sing a song to his dance: A dance-song and satire on the spirit of gravity my supremest,powerfulest devil, who is said to be "lord of the world."- And this is the song that Zarathustra sang when Cupid and themaidens danced together:

Of late did I gaze into thine eye, O Life! And into the unfathomabledid I there seem to sink. But thou pulledst me out with a golden angle; derisively didstthou laugh when I called thee unfathomable. "Such is the language of all fish," saidst thou; "what they do notfathom is unfathomable. But changeable am I only, and wild, and altogether a woman, and novirtuous one: Though I be called by you men the 'profound one,' or the 'faithfulone,' 'the eternal one,' 'the mysterious one.' But ye men endow us always with your own virtues- alas, yevirtuous ones!" Thus did she laugh, the unbelievable one; but never do I believe herand her laughter, when she speaketh evil of herself. And when I talked face to face with my wild Wisdom, she said to meangrily: "Thou willest, thou cravest, thou lovest; on that accountalone dost thou praise Life!" Then had I almost answered indignantly and told the truth to theangry one; and one cannot answer more indignantly than when one"telleth the truth" to one's Wisdom. For thus do things stand with us three. In my heart do I love onlyLife- and verily, most when I hate her! But that I am fond of Wisdom, and often too fond, is because sheremindeth me very strongly of Life! She hath her eye, her laugh, and even her golden angle-rod: am Iresponsible for it that both are so alike? And when once Life asked me: "Who is she then, this Wisdom?"- thensaid I eagerly: "Ah, yes! Wisdom! One thirsteth for her and is not satisfied, one looketh throughveils, one graspeth through nets. Is she beautiful? What do I know! But the oldest carps are stilllured by her. Changeable is she, and wayward; often have I seen her bite herlip, and pass the comb against the grain of her hair. Perhaps she is wicked and false, and altogether a woman; but whenshe speaketh ill of herself, just then doth she seduce most." When I had said this unto Life, then laughed she maliciously, andshut her eyes. "Of whom dost thou speak?" said she. "Perhaps of me? And if thou wert right- is it proper to say that in such wise tomy face! But now, pray, speak also of thy Wisdom!" Ah, and now hast thou again opened thine eyes, O beloved Life! Andinto the unfathomable have I again seemed to sink.-

Thus sang Zarathustra. But when the dance was over and the maidenshad departed, he became sad. "The sun hath been long set," said he at last, "the meadow isdamp, and from the forest cometh coolness. An unknown presence is about me, and gazeth thoughtfully. What! Thoulivest still, Zarathustra? Why? Wherefore? Whereby? Whither? Where? How? Is it not follystill to live?- Ah, my friends; the evening is it which thus interrogateth in me.Forgive me my sadness! Evening hath come on: forgive me that evening hath come on!"

Thus sang Zarathustra. 33. The Grave-Song

"YONDER is the grave-island, the silent isle; yonder also are thegraves of my youth. Thither will I carry an evergreen wreath of life." Resolving thus in my heart, did I sail o'er the sea.- Oh, ye sights and scenes of my youth! Oh, all ye gleams of love,ye divine fleeting gleams! How could ye perish so soon for me! I thinkof you to-day as my dead ones. From you, my dearest dead ones, cometh unto me a sweet savour,heart-opening and melting. Verily, it convulseth and openeth the heartof the lone seafarer. Still am I the richest and most to be envied- I, the lonesomest one!For I have possessed you, and ye possess me still. Tell me: to whomhath there ever fallen such rosy apples from the tree as have fallenunto me? Still am I your love's heir and heritage, blooming to your memorywith many-hued, wild-growing virtues, O ye dearest ones! Ah, we were made to remain nigh unto each other, ye kindly strangemarvels; and not like timid birds did ye come to me and my longing-nay, but as trusting ones to a trusting one! Yea, made for faithfulness, like me, and for fond eternities, must Inow name you by your faithlessness, ye divine glances and fleetinggleams: no other name have I yet learnt. Verily, too early did ye die for me, ye fugitives. Yet did ye notflee from me, nor did I flee from you: innocent are we to each otherin our faithlessness. To kill me, did they strangle you, ye singing birds of my hopes!Yea, at you, ye dearest ones, did malice ever shoot its arrows- to hitmy heart! And they hit it! Because ye were always my dearest, my possessionand my possessedness: on that account had ye to die young, and far tooearly! At my most vulnerable point did they shoot the arrow- namely, atyou, whose skin is like down- or more like the smile that dieth at aglance! But this word will I say unto mine enemies: What is all manslaughterin comparison with what ye have done unto me! Worse evil did ye do unto me than all manslaughter; theirretrievable did ye take from me:- thus do I speak unto you, mineenemies! Slew ye not my youth's visions and dearest marvels! My playmatestook ye from me, the blessed spirits! To their memory do I depositthis wreath and this curse. This curse upon you, mine enemies! Have ye not made mine eternalshort, as a tone dieth away in a cold night! Scarcely, as thetwinkle of divine eyes, did it come to me- as a fleeting gleam! Thus spake once in a happy hour my purity: "Divine shalleverything be unto me." Then did ye haunt me with foul phantoms; ah, whither hath that happyhour now fled! "All days shall be holy unto me"- so spake once the wisdom of myyouth: verily, the language of a joyous wisdom! But then did ye enemies steal my nights, and sold them tosleepless torture: ah, whither hath that joyous wisdom now fled? Once did I long for happy auspices: then did ye lead anowl-monster across my path, an adverse sign. Ah, whither did my tenderlonging then flee? All loathing did I once vow to renounce: then did ye change mynigh ones and nearest ones into ulcerations. Ah, whither did mynoblest vow then flee? As a blind one did I once walk in blessed ways: then did ye castfilth on the blind one's course: and now is he disgusted with theold footpath. And when I performed my hardest task, and celebrated the triumphof my victories, then did ye make those who loved me call out that Ithen grieved them most. Verily, it was always your doing: ye embittered to me my best honey,and the diligence of my best bees. To my charity have ye ever sent the most impudent beggars; around mysympathy have ye ever crowded the incurably shameless. Thus have yewounded the faith of my virtue. And when I offered my holiest as a sacrifice, immediately did your"piety" put its fatter gifts beside it: so that my holiestsuffocated in the fumes of your fat. And once did I want to dance as I had never yet danced: beyond allheavens did I want to dance. Then did ye seduce my favourite minstrel. And now hath he struck up an awful, melancholy air; alas, hetooted as a mournful horn to mine ear! Murderous minstrel, instrument of evil, most innocent instrument!Already did I stand prepared for the best dance: then didst thouslay my rapture with thy tones! Only in the dance do I know how to speak the parable of thehighest things:- and now hath my grandest parable remained unspoken inmy limbs! Unspoken and unrealised hath my highest hope remained! And therehave perished for me all the visions and consolations of my youth! How did I ever bear it? How did I survive and surmount suchwounds? How did my soul rise again out of those sepulchres? Yea, something invulnerable, unburiable is with me, something thatwould rend rocks asunder: it is called my Will. Silently doth itproceed, and unchanged throughout the years. Its course will it go upon my feet, mine old Will; hard of heartis its nature and invulnerable. Invulnerable am I only in my heel. Ever livest thou there, and artlike thyself, thou most patient one! Ever hast thou burst all shacklesof the tomb! In thee still liveth also the unrealisedness of my youth; and aslife and youth sittest thou here hopeful on the yellow ruins ofgraves. Yea, thou art still for me the demolisher of all graves: Hail tothee, my Will! And only where there are graves are thereresurrections.-

Thus sang Zarathustra. 34. Self-Surpassing

"WILL to Truth" do ye call it, ye wisest ones, that whichimpelleth you and maketh you ardent? Will for the thinkableness of all being: thus do I call your will! All being would ye make thinkable: for ye doubt with good reasonwhether it be already thinkable. But it shall accommodate and bend itself to you! So willeth yourwill. Smooth shall it become and subject to the spirit, as itsmirror and reflection. That is your entire will, ye wisest ones, as a Will to Power; andeven when ye speak of good and evil, and of estimates of value. Ye would still create a world before which ye can bow the knee: suchis your ultimate hope and ecstasy. The ignorant, to be sure, the people- they are like a river on whicha boat floateth along: and in the boat sit the estimates of value,solemn and disguised. Your will and your valuations have ye put on the river ofbecoming; it betrayeth unto me an old Will to Power, what isbelieved by the people as good and evil. It was ye, ye wisest ones, who put such guests in this boat, andgave them pomp and proud names- ye and your ruling Will! Onward the river now carrieth your boat: it must carry it. A smallmatter if the rough wave foameth and angrily resisteth its keel! It is not the river that is your danger and the end of your good andevil, ye wisest ones: but that Will itself, the Will to Power- theunexhausted, procreating life-will. But that ye may understand my gospel of good and evil, for thatpurpose will I tell you my gospel of life, and of the nature of allliving things. The living thing did I follow; I walked in the broadest andnarrowest paths to learn its nature. With a hundred-faced mirror did I catch its glance when its mouthwas shut, so that its eye might speak unto me. And its eye spakeunto me. But wherever I found living things, there heard I also thelanguage of obedience. All living things are obeying things. And this heard I secondly: Whatever cannot obey itself, iscommanded. Such is the nature of living things. This, however, is the third thing which I heard- namely, thatcommanding is more difficult than obeying. And not only because thecommander beareth the burden of all obeyers, and because this burdenreadily crusheth him:- An attempt and a risk seemed all commanding unto me; and whenever itcommandeth, the living thing risketh itself thereby. Yea, even when it commandeth itself, then also must it atone for itscommanding. Of its own law must it become the judge and avenger andvictim. How doth this happen! So did I ask myself. What persuadeth theliving thing to obey, and command, and even be obedient in commanding? Hearken now unto my word, ye wisest ones! Test it seriously, whetherI have crept into the heart of life itself, and into the roots ofits heart! Wherever I found a living thing, there found I Will to Power; andeven in the will of the servant found I the will to be master. That to the stronger the weaker shall serve- thereto persuadeth hehis will who would be master over a still weaker one. That delightalone he is unwilling to forego. And as the lesser surrendereth himself to the greater that he mayhave delight and power over the least of all, so doth even thegreatest surrender himself, and staketh- life, for the sake of power. It is the surrender of the greatest to run risk and danger, and playdice for death. And where there is sacrifice and service and love-glances, therealso is the will to be master. By by-ways doth the weaker then slinkinto the fortress, and into the heart of the mightier one- and therestealeth power. And this secret spake Life herself unto me. "Behold," said she, "Iam that which must ever surpass itself. To be sure, ye call it will to procreation, or impulse towards agoal, towards the higher, remoter, more manifold: but all that isone and the same secret. Rather would I succumb than disown this one thing; and verily, wherethere is succumbing and leaf-falling, lo, there doth Life sacrificeitself- for power! That I have to be struggle, and becoming, and purpose, andcross-purpose- ah, he who divineth my will, divineth well also on whatcrooked paths it hath to tread! Whatever I create, and however much I love it,- soon must I beadverse to it, and to my love: so willeth my will. And even thou, discerning one, art only a path and footstep of mywill: verily, my Will to Power walketh even on the feet of thy Will toTruth! He certainly did not hit the truth who shot at it the formula: "Willto existence": that will- doth not exist! For what is not, cannot will; that, however, which is inexistence- how could it still strive for existence! Only where there is life, is there also will: not, however, Willto Life, but- so teach I thee- Will to Power! Much is reckoned higher than life itself by the living one; butout of the very reckoning speaketh- the Will to Power!"- Thus did Life once teach me: and thereby, ye wisest ones, do I solveyou the riddle of your hearts. Verily, I say unto you: good and evil which would be everlasting- itdoth not exist! Of its own accord must it ever surpass itself anew. With your values and formulae of good and evil, ye exercise power,ye valuing ones: and that is your secret love, and the sparkling,trembling, and overflowing of your souls. But a stronger power groweth out of your values, and a newsurpassing: by it breaketh egg and egg-shell. And he who hath to be a creator in good and evil- verily, he hathfirst to be a destroyer, and break values in pieces. Thus doth the greatest evil pertain to the greatest good: that,however, is the creating good.- Let us speak thereof, ye wisest ones, even though it be bad. To besilent is worse; all suppressed truths become poisonous. And let everything break up which- can break up by our truths!Many a house is still to be built!-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 35. The Sublime Ones

CALM is the bottom of my sea: who would guess that it hideth drollmonsters! Unmoved is my depth: but it sparkleth with swimming enigmas andlaughters. A sublime one saw I today, a solemn one, a penitent of the spirit:Oh, how my soul laughed at his ugliness! With upraised breast, and like those who draw in their breath:thus did he stand, the sublime one, and in silence: O'erhung with ugly truths, the spoil of his hunting, and rich intorn raiment; many thorns also hung on him- but I saw no rose. Not yet had he learned laughing and beauty. Gloomy did this hunterreturn from the forest of knowledge. From the fight with wild beasts returned he home: but even yet awild beast gazeth out of his seriousness- an unconquered wild beast! As a tiger doth he ever stand, on the point of springing; but I donot like those strained souls; ungracious is my taste towards allthose self-engrossed ones. And ye tell me, friends, that there is to be no dispute abouttaste and tasting? But all life is a dispute about taste and tasting! Taste: that is weight at the same time, and scales and weigher;and alas for every living thing that would live without disputeabout weight and scales and weigher! Should he become weary of his sublimeness, this sublime one, thenonly will his beauty begin- and then only will I taste him and findhim savoury. And only when he turneth away from himself will he o'erleap hisown shadow- and verily! into his sun. Far too long did he sit in the shade; the cheeks of the penitentof the spirit became pale; he almost starved on his expectations. Contempt is still in his eye, and loathing hideth in his mouth. Tobe sure, he now resteth, but he hath not yet taken rest in thesunshine. As the ox ought he to do; and his happiness should smell of theearth, and not of contempt for the earth. As a white ox would I like to see him, which, snorting and lowing,walketh before the plough-share: and his lowing should also laud allthat is earthly! Dark is still his countenance; the shadow of his hand danceth uponit. O'ershadowed is still the sense of his eye. His deed itself is still the shadow upon him: his doing obscureththe doer. Not yet hath he overcome his deed. To be sure, I love in him the shoulders of the ox: but now do I wantto see also the eye of the angel. Also his hero-will hath he still to unlearn: an exalted one shall hebe, and not only a sublime one:- the ether itself should raise him,the will-less one! He hath subdued monsters, he hath solved enigmas. But he should alsoredeem his monsters and enigmas; into heavenly children should hetransform them. As yet hath his knowledge not learned to smile, and to be withoutjealousy; as yet hath his gushing passion not become calm in beauty. Verily, not in satiety shall his longing cease and disappear, but inbeauty! Gracefulness belongeth to the munificence of the magnanimous. His arm across his head: thus should the hero repose; thus should healso surmount his repose. But precisely to the hero is beauty the hardest thing of all.Unattainable is beauty by all ardent wills. A little more, a little less: precisely this is much here, it is themost here. To stand with relaxed muscles and with unharnessed will: that is thehardest for all of you, ye sublime ones! When power becometh gracious and descendeth into the visible- I callsuch condescension, beauty. And from no one do I want beauty so much as from thee, thou powerfulone: let thy goodness be thy last self-conquest. All evil do I accredit to thee: therefore do I desire of thee thegood. Verily, I have often laughed at the weaklings, who thinkthemselves good because they have crippled paws! The virtue of the pillar shalt thou strive after: more beautifuldoth it ever become, and more graceful- but internally harder and moresustaining- the higher it riseth. Yea, thou sublime one, one day shalt thou also be beautiful, andhold up the mirror to thine own beauty. Then will thy soul thrill with divine desires; and there will beadoration even in thy vanity! For this is the secret of the soul: when the hero hath abandoned it,then only approacheth it in dreams- the super-hero.-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 36. The Land of Culture

TOO far did I fly into the future: a horror seized upon me. And when I looked around me, lo! there time was my solecontemporary. Then did I fly backwards, homewards- and always faster. Thus did Icome unto you: ye present-day men, and into the land of culture. For the first time brought I an eye to see you, and good desire:verily, with longing in my heart did I come. But how did it turn out with me? Although so alarmed- I had yet tolaugh! Never did mine eye see anything so motley-coloured! I laughed and laughed, while my foot still trembled, and my heart aswell. "Here forsooth, is the home of all the paint-pots,"- said I. With fifty patches painted on faces and limbs- so sat ye there tomine astonishment, ye present-day men! And with fifty mirrors around you, which flattered your play ofcolours, and repeated it! Verily, ye could wear no better masks, ye present-day men, than yourown faces! Who could- recognise you! Written all over with the characters of the past, and thesecharacters also pencilled over with new characters- thus have yeconcealed yourselves well from all decipherers! And though one be a trier of the reins, who still believeth thatye have reins! Out of colours ye seem to be baked, and out of gluedscraps. All times and peoples gaze divers-coloured out of your veils; allcustoms and beliefs speak divers-coloured out of your gestures. He who would strip you of veils and wrappers, and paints andgestures, would just have enough left to scare the crows. Verily, I myself am the scared crow that once saw you naked, andwithout paint; and I flew away when the skeleton ogled at me. Rather would I be a day-labourer in the nether-world, and amongthe shades of the by-gone!- Fatter and fuller than ye, are forsooththe nether-worldlings! This, yea this, is bitterness to my bowels, that I can neitherendure you naked nor clothed, ye present-day men! All that is unhomelike in the future, and whatever maketh strayedbirds shiver, is verily more homelike and familiar than your"reality." For thus speak ye: "Real are we wholly, and without faith andsuperstition": thus do ye plume yourselves- alas! even without plumes! Indeed, how would ye be able to believe, ye divers-coloured ones!-ye who are pictures of all that hath ever been believed! Perambulating refutations are ye, of belief itself, and adislocation of all thought. Untrustworthy ones: thus do I call you, yereal ones! All periods prate against one another in your spirits; and thedreams and pratings of all periods were even realer than yourawakeness! Unfruitful are ye: therefore do ye lack belief. But he who had tocreate, had always his presaging dreams and astral premonitions- andbelieved in believing!- Half-open doors are ye, at which grave-diggers wait. And this isyour reality: "Everything deserveth to perish." Alas, how ye stand there before me, ye unfruitful ones; how leanyour ribs! And many of you surely have had knowledge thereof. Many a one hath said: "There hath surely a God filched somethingfrom me secretly whilst I slept? Verily, enough to make a girl forhimself therefrom! "Amazing is the poverty of my ribs!" thus hath spoken many apresent-day man. Yea, ye are laughable unto me, ye present-day men! And especiallywhen ye marvel at yourselves! And woe unto me if I could not laugh at your marvelling, and hadto swallow all that is repugnant in your platters! As it is, however, I will make lighter of you, since I have to carrywhat is heavy; and what matter if beetles and May-bugs also alighton my load! Verily, it shall not on that account become heavier to me! And notfrom you, ye present-day men, shall my great weariness arise.- Ah, whither shall I now ascend with my longing! From all mountainsdo I look out for fatherlands and motherlands. But a home have I found nowhere: unsettled am I in all cities, anddecamping at all gates. Alien to me, and a mockery, are the present-day men, to whom of latemy heart impelled me; and exiled am I from fatherlands andmotherlands. Thus do I love only my children's land, the undiscovered in theremotest sea: for it do I bid my sails search and search. Unto my children will I make amends for being the child of myfathers: and unto all the future- for this present-day!-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 37. Immaculate Perception

WHEN yester-eve the moon arose, then did I fancy it about to beara sun: so broad and teeming did it lie on the horizon. But it was a liar with its pregnancy; and sooner will I believe inthe man in the moon than in the woman. To be sure, little of a man is he also, that timid night-reveller.Verily, with a bad conscience doth he stalk over the roofs. For he is covetous and jealous, the monk in the moon; covetous ofthe earth, and all the joys of lovers. Nay, I like him not, that tom-cat on the roofs! Hateful unto meare all that slink around half-closed windows! Piously and silently doth he stalk along on the star-carpets:- but Ilike no light-treading human feet, on which not even a spur jingleth. Every honest one's step speaketh; the cat however, stealeth alongover the ground. Lo! cat-like doth the moon come along, anddishonestly.- This parable speak I unto you sentimental dissemblers, unto you, the"pure discerners!" You do I call- covetous ones! Also ye love the earth, and the earthly: I have divined you well!-but shame is in your love, and a bad conscience- ye are like the moon! To despise the earthly hath your spirit been persuaded, but not yourbowels: these, however, are the strongest in you! And now is your spirit ashamed to be at the service of yourbowels, and goeth in by-ways and lying ways to escape its own shame. "That would be the highest thing for me"- so saith your lying spiritunto itself- "to gaze upon life without desire, and not like thedog, with hanging-out tongue: To be happy in gazing: with dead will, free from the grip andgreed of selfishness- cold and ashy-grey all over, but withintoxicated moon-eyes! That would be the dearest thing to me"- thus doth the seduced oneseduce himself,- "to love the earth as the moon loveth it, and withthe eye only to feel its beauty. And this do I call immaculate perception of all things: to wantnothing else from them, but to be allowed to lie before them as amirror with a hundred facets."- Oh, ye sentimental dissemblers, ye covetous ones! Ye lackinnocence in your desire: and now do ye defame desiring on thataccount! Verily, not as creators, as procreators, or as jubilators do ye lovethe earth! Where is innocence? Where there is will to procreation. And he whoseeketh to create beyond himself, hath for me the purest will. Where is beauty? Where I must will with my whole Will; where Iwill love and perish, that an image may not remain merely an image. Loving and perishing: these have rhymed from eternity. Will to love:that is to be ready also for death. Thus do I speak unto you cowards! But now doth your emasculated ogling profess to be"contemplation!" And that which can be examined with cowardly eyesis to be christened "beautiful!" Oh, ye violators of noble names! But it shall be your curse, ye immaculate ones, ye purediscerners, that ye shall never bring forth, even though ye liebroad and teeming on the horizon! Verily, ye fill your mouth with noble words: and we are to believethat your heart overfloweth, ye cozeners? But my words are poor, contemptible, stammering words: gladly do Ipick up what falleth from the table at your repasts. Yet still can I say therewith the truth- to dissemblers! Yea, myfish-bones, shells, and prickly leaves shall- tickle the noses ofdissemblers! Bad air is always about you and your repasts: your lasciviousthoughts, your lies, and secrets are indeed in the air! Dare only to believe in yourselves- in yourselves and in your inwardparts! He who doth not believe in himself always lieth. A God's mask have ye hung in front of you, ye "pure ones": into aGod's mask hath your execrable coiling snake crawled. Verily ye deceive, ye "contemplative ones!" Even Zarathustra wasonce the dupe of your godlike exterior; he did not divine theserpent's coil with which it was stuffed. A God's soul, I once thought I saw playing in your games, ye purediscerners! No better arts did I once dream of than your arts! Serpents' filth and evil odour, the distance concealed from me:and that a lizard's craft prowled thereabouts lasciviously. But I came nigh unto you: then came to me the day,- and now comethit to you,- at an end is the moon's love affair! See there! Surprised and pale doth it stand- before the rosy dawn! For already she cometh, the glowing one,- her love to the earthcometh! Innocence, and creative desire, is all solar love! See there, how she cometh impatiently over the sea! Do ye not feelthe thirst and the hot breath of her love? At the sea would she suck, and drink its depths to her height: nowriseth the desire of the sea with its thousand breasts. Kissed and sucked would it be by the thirst of the sun; vapour wouldit become, and height, and path of light, and light itself! Verily, like the sun do I love life, and all deep seas. And this meaneth to me knowledge: all that is deep shall ascend-to my height!-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 38. Scholars

WHEN I lay asleep, then did a sheep eat at the ivy-wreath on myhead,- it ate, and said thereby: "Zarathustra is no longer a scholar." It said this, and went away clumsily and proudly. A child told it tome. I like to lie here where the children play, beside the ruinedwall, among thistles and red poppies. A scholar am I still to the children, and also to the thistles andred poppies. Innocent are they, even in their wickedness. But to the sheep I am no longer a scholar: so willeth mylot-blessings upon it! For this is the truth: I have departed from the house of thescholars, and the door have I also slammed behind me. Too long did my soul sit hungry at their table: not like them have Igot the knack of investigating, as the knack of nut-cracking. Freedom do I love, and the air over fresh soil; rather would I sleepon ox-skins than on their honours and dignities. I am too hot and scorched with mine own thought: often is it readyto take away my breath. Then have I to go into the open air, andaway from all dusty rooms. But they sit cool in the cool shade: they want in everything to bemerely spectators, and they avoid sitting where the sun burneth on thesteps. Like those who stand in the street and gape at the passers-by:thus do they also wait, and gape at the thoughts which others havethought. Should one lay hold of them, then do they raise a dust likeflour-sacks, and involuntarily: but who would divine that their dustcame from corn, and from the yellow delight of the summer fields? When they give themselves out as wise, then do their petty sayingsand truths chill me: in their wisdom there is often an odour as ifit came from the swamp; and verily, I have even heard the frog croakin it! Clever are they- they have dexterous fingers: what doth mysimplicity pretend to beside their multiplicity! All threading andknitting and weaving do their fingers understand: thus do they makethe hose of the spirit! Good clockworks are they: only be careful to wind them upproperly! Then do they indicate the hour without mistake, and make amodest noise thereby. Like millstones do they work, and like pestles: throw only seed-cornunto them!- they know well how to grind corn small, and make whitedust out of it. They keep a sharp eye on one another, and do not trust each otherthe best. Ingenious in little artifices, they wait for those whoseknowledge walketh on lame feet,- like spiders do they wait. I saw them always prepare their poison with precaution; and alwaysdid they put glass gloves on their fingers in doing so. They also know how to play with false dice; and so eagerly did Ifind them playing, that they perspired thereby. We are alien to each other, and their virtues are even morerepugnant to my taste than their falsehoods and false dice. And when I lived with them, then did I live above them. Thereforedid they take a dislike to me. They want to hear nothing of any one walking above their heads;and so they put wood and earth and rubbish betwixt me and their heads. Thus did they deafen the sound of my tread: and least have Ihitherto been heard by the most learned. All mankind's faults and weaknesses did they put betwixtthemselves and me:- they call it "false ceiling" in their houses. But nevertheless I walk with my thoughts above their heads; and evenshould I walk on mine own errors, still would I be above them andtheir heads. For men are not equal: so speaketh justice. And what I will, theymay not will!-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 39. Poets

"SINCE I have known the body better"- said Zarathustra to one of hisdisciples- "the spirit hath only been to me symbolically spirit; andall the 'imperishable'- that is also but a simile." "So have I heard thee say once before," answered the disciple,"and then thou addedst: 'But the poets lie too much.' Why didst thousay that the poets lie too much?" "Why?" said Zarathustra. "Thou askest why? I do not belong tothose who may be asked after their Why. Is my experience but of yesterday? It is long ago that I experiencedthe reasons for mine opinions. Should I not have to be a cask of memory, if I also wanted to havemy reasons with me? It is already too much for me even to retain mine opinions; and manya bird flieth away. And sometimes, also, do I find a fugitive creature in my dovecote,which is alien to me, and trembleth when I lay my hand upon it. But what did Zarathustra once say unto thee? That the poets lietoo much?- But Zarathustra also is a poet. Believest thou that he there spake the truth? Why dost thoubelieve it?" The disciple answered: "I believe in Zarathustra." But Zarathustrashook his head and smiled.- Belief doth not sanctify me, said he, least of all the belief inmyself. But granting that some one did say in all seriousness that the poetslie too much: he was right- we do lie too much. We also know too little, and are bad learners: so we are obligedto lie. And which of us poets hath not adulterated his wine? Many apoisonous hotchpotch hath evolved in our cellars: many anindescribable thing hath there been done. And because we know little, therefore are we pleased from theheart with the poor in spirit, especially when they are young women! And even of those things are we desirous, which old women tell oneanother in the evening. This do we call the eternally feminine in us. And as if there were a special secret access to knowledge, whichchoketh up for those who learn anything, so do we believe in thepeople and in their "wisdom." This, however, do all poets believe: that whoever pricketh up hisears when lying in the grass or on lonely slopes, learneth somethingof the things that are betwixt heaven and earth. And if there come unto them tender emotions, then do the poetsalways think that nature herself is in love with them: And that she stealeth to their ear to whisper secrets into it, andamorous flatteries: of this do they plume and pride themselves, beforeall mortals! Ah, there are so many things betwixt heaven and earth of whichonly the poets have dreamed! And especially above the heavens: for all gods arepoet-symbolisations, poet-sophistications! Verily, ever are we drawn aloft- that is, to the realm of theclouds: on these do we set our gaudy puppets, and then call themgods and Supermen:- Are not they light enough for those chairs!- all these gods andSupermen?- Ah, how I am weary of all the inadequate that is insisted on asactual! Ah, how I am weary of the poets!

When Zarathustra so spake, his disciple resented it, but was silent.And Zarathustra also was silent; and his eye directed itself inwardly,as if it gazed into the far distance. At last he sighed and drewbreath.- I am of today and heretofore, said he thereupon; but something is inme that is of the morrow, and the day following, and the hereafter. I became weary of the poets, of the old and of the new:superficial are they all unto me, and shallow seas. They did not think sufficiently into the depth; therefore theirfeeling did not reach to the bottom. Some sensation of voluptuousness and some sensation of tedium: thesehave as yet been their best contemplation. Ghost-breathing and ghost-whisking, seemeth to me all thejingle-jangling of their harps; what have they known hitherto of thefervour of tones!- They are also not pure enough for me: they all muddle their waterthat it may seem deep. And fain would they thereby prove themselves reconcilers: butmediaries and mixers are they unto me, and half-and-half, and impure!- Ah, I cast indeed my net into their sea, and meant to catch goodfish; but always did I draw up the head of some ancient God. Thus did the sea give a stone to the hungry one. And they themselvesmay well originate from the sea. Certainly, one findeth pearls in them: thereby they are the morelike hard molluscs. And instead of a soul, I have often found inthem salt slime. They have learned from the sea also its vanity: is not the sea thepeacock of peacocks? Even before the ugliest of all buffaloes doth it spread out itstail; never doth it tire of its lace-fan of silver and silk. Disdainfully doth the buffalo glance thereat, nigh to the sandwith its soul, nigher still to the thicket, nighest, however, to theswamp. What is beauty and sea and peacock-splendour to it! This parable Ispeak unto the poets. Verily, their spirit itself is the peacock of peacocks, and a sea ofvanity! Spectators seeketh the spirit of the poet- should they even bebuffaloes!- But of this spirit became I weary; and I see the time coming when itwill become weary of itself. Yea, changed have I seen the poets, and their glance turnedtowards themselves. Penitents of the spirit have I seen appearing; they grew out ofthe poets.-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 40. Great Events

THERE is an isle in the sea- not far from the Happy Isles ofZarathustra- on which a volcano ever smoketh; of which isle thepeople, and especially the old women amongst them, say that it isplaced as a rock before the gate of the nether-world; but that throughthe volcano itself the narrow way leadeth downwards which conductethto this gate. Now about the time that Zarathustra sojourned on the Happy Isles, ithappened that a ship anchored at the isle on which standeth thesmoking mountain, and the crew went ashore to shoot rabbits. About thenoontide hour, however, when the captain and his men were togetheragain, they saw suddenly a man coming towards them through the air,and a voice said distinctly: "It is time! It is the highest time!" Butwhen the figure was nearest to them (it flew past quickly, however,like a shadow, in the direction of the volcano), then did theyrecognise with the greatest surprise that it was Zarathustra; for theyhad all seen him before except the captain himself, and they loved himas the people love: in such wise that love and awe were combined inequal degree. "Behold!" said the old helmsman, "there goeth Zarathustra to hell!" About the same time that these sailors landed on the fire-isle,there was a rumour that Zarathustra had disappeared; and when hisfriends were asked about it, they said that he had gone on board aship by night, without saying whither he was going. Thus there arose some uneasiness. After three days, however, therecame the story of the ship's crew in addition to this uneasiness-and then did all the people say that the devil had takenZarathustra. His disciples laughed, sure enough, at this talk; and oneof them said even: "Sooner would I believe that Zarathustra hath takenthe devil." But at the bottom of their hearts they were all full ofanxiety and longing: so their joy was great when on the fifth dayZarathustra appeared amongst them. And this is the account of Zarathustra's interview with thefire-dog: The earth, said he, hath a skin; and this skin hath diseases. One ofthese diseases, for example, is called "man." And another of these diseases is called "the fire-dog": concerninghim men have greatly deceived themselves, and let themselves bedeceived. To fathom this mystery did I go o'er the sea; and I have seen thetruth naked, verily! barefooted up to the neck. Now do I know how it is concerning the fire-dog; and likewiseconcerning all the spouting and subversive devils, of which not onlyold women are afraid. "Up with thee, fire-dog, out of thy depth!" cried I, "and confesshow deep that depth is! Whence cometh that which thou snortest up? Thou drinkest copiously at the sea: that doth thine embitteredeloquence betray! In sooth, for a dog of the depth, thou takest thynourishment too much from the surface! At the most, I regard thee as the ventriloquist of the earth: andever, when I have heard subversive and spouting devils speak, I havefound them like thee: embittered, mendacious, and shallow. Ye understand how to roar and obscure with ashes! Ye are the bestbraggarts, and have sufficiently learned the art of making dregs boil. Where ye are, there must always be dregs at hand, and much that isspongy, hollow, and compressed: it wanteth to have freedom. 'Freedom' ye all roar most eagerly: but I have unlearned thebelief in 'great events,' when there is much roaring and smoke aboutthem. And believe me, friend Hullabaloo! The greatest events- are notour noisiest, but our stillest hours. Not around the inventors of new noise, but around the inventors ofnew values, doth the world revolve; inaudibly it revolveth. And just own to it! Little had ever taken place when thy noise andsmoke passed away. What, if a city did become a mummy, and a statuelay in the mud! And this do I say also to the o'erthrowers of statues: It iscertainly the greatest folly to throw salt into the sea, and statuesinto the mud. In the mud of your contempt lay the statue: but it is just itslaw, that out of contempt, its life and living beauty grow again! With diviner features doth it now arise, seducing by itssuffering; and verily! it will yet thank you for o'erthrowing it, yesubverters! This counsel, however, do I counsel to kings and churches, and toall that is weak with age or virtue- let yourselves be o'erthrown!That ye may again come to life, and that virtue- may come to you!-" Thus spake I before the fire-dog: then did he interrupt me sullenly,and asked: "Church? What is that?" "Church?" answered I, "that is a kind of state, and indeed themost mendacious. But remain quiet, thou dissembling dog! Thou surelyknowest thine own species best! Like thyself the state is a dissembling dog; like thee doth itlike to speak with smoke and roaring- to make believe, like thee, thatit speaketh out of the heart of things. For it seeketh by all means to be the most important creature onearth, the state; and people think it so." When I had said this, the fire-dog acted as if mad with envy."What!" cried he, "the most important creature on earth? And peoplethink it so?" And so much vapour and terrible voices came out of histhroat, that I thought he would choke with vexation and envy. At last he became calmer and his panting subsided; as soon, however,as he was quiet, I said laughingly: "Thou art angry, fire-dog: so I am in the right about thee! And that I may also maintain the right, hear the story of anotherfire-dog; he speaketh actually out of the heart of the earth. Gold doth his breath exhale, and golden rain: so doth his heartdesire. What are ashes and smoke and hot dregs to him! Laughter flitteth from him like a variegated cloud; adverse is he tothy gargling and spewing and grips in the bowels! The gold, however, and the laughter- these doth he take out of theheart of the earth: for, that thou mayst know it,- the heart of theearth is of gold." When the fire-dog heard this, he could no longer endure to listen tome. Abashed did he draw in his tail, said "bow-wow!" in a cowed voice,and crept down into his cave.- Thus told Zarathustra. His disciples, however, hardly listened tohim: so great was their eagerness to tell him about the sailors, therabbits, and the flying man. "What am I to think of it!" said Zarathustra. "Am I indeed a ghost? But it may have been my shadow. Ye have surely heard something ofthe Wanderer and his Shadow? One thing, however, is certain: I must keep a tighter hold of it;otherwise it will spoil my reputation." And once more Zarathustra shook his head and wondered. "What am I tothink of it!" said he once more. "Why did the ghost cry: 'It is time! It is the highest time!' For what is it then- the highest time?"-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 41. The Soothsayer

"-AND I saw a great sadness come over mankind. The best turned wearyof their works. A doctrine appeared, a faith ran beside it: 'All is empty, all isalike, all hath been!' And from all hills there re-echoed: 'All is empty, all is alike, allhath been!' To be sure we have harvested: but why have all our fruits becomerotten and brown? What was it fell last night from the evil moon? In vain was all our labour, poison hath our wine become, the evileye hath singed yellow our fields and hearts. Arid have we all become; and fire falling upon us, then do we turndust like ashes:- yea, the fire itself have we made aweary. All our fountains have dried up, even the sea hath receded. Allthe ground trieth to gape, but the depth will not swallow! 'Alas! where is there still a sea in which one could be drowned?' sosoundeth our plaint- across shallow swamps. Verily, even for dying have we become too weary; now do we keepawake and live on- in sepulchres."

Thus did Zarathustra hear a soothsayer speak; and the forebodingtouched his heart and transformed him. Sorrowfully did he go about andwearily; and he became like unto those of whom the soothsayer hadspoken.- Verily, said he unto his disciples, a little while, and there comeththe long twilight. Alas, how shall I preserve my light through it! That it may not smother in this sorrowfulness! To remoter worldsshall it be a light, and also to remotest nights! Thus did Zarathustra go about grieved in his heart, and for threedays he did not take any meat or drink: he had no rest, and lost hisspeech. At last it came to pass that he fell into a deep sleep. Hisdisciples, however, sat around him in long night-watches, and waitedanxiously to see if he would awake, and speak again, and recoverfrom his affliction. And this is the discourse that Zarathustra spake when he awoke;his voice, however, came unto his disciples as from afar: Hear, I pray you, the dream that I dreamed, my friends, and helpme to divine its meaning! A riddle is it still unto me, this dream; the meaning is hidden init and encaged, and doth not yet fly above it on free pinions. All life had I renounced, so I dreamed. Night-watchman andgrave-guardian had I become, aloft, in the lone mountain-fortress ofDeath. There did I guard his coffins: full stood the musty vaults ofthose trophies of victory. Out of glass coffins did vanquished lifegaze upon me. The odour of dust-covered eternities did I breathe: sultry anddust-covered lay my soul. And who could have aired his soul there! Brightness of midnight was ever around me; lonesomeness coweredbeside her; and as a third, death-rattle stillness, the worst of myfemale friends. Keys did I carry, the rustiest of all keys; and I knew how to openwith them the most creaking of all gates. Like a bitterly angry croaking ran the sound through the longcorridors when the leaves of the gate opened: ungraciously did thisbird cry, unwillingly was it awakened. But more frightful even, and more heart-strangling was it, when itagain became silent and still all around, and I alone sat in thatmalignant silence. Thus did time pass with me, and slip by, if time there still was:what do I know thereof! But at last there happened that which awokeme. Thrice did there peal peals at the gate like thunders, thrice didthe vaults resound and howl again: then did I go to the sate. Alpa! cried I, who carrieth his ashes unto the mountain? Alpa! Alpa!who carrieth his ashes unto the mountain? And I pressed the key, and pulled at the gate, and exerted myself.But not a finger's-breadth was it yet open: Then did a roaring wind tear the folds apart: whistling, whizzing,and piercing, it threw unto me a black coffin. And in the roaring and whistling and whizzing, the coffin burstopen, and spouted out a thousand peals of laughter. And a thousand caricatures of children, angels, owls, fools, andchild-sized butterflies laughed and mocked, and roared at me. Fearfully was I terrified thereby: it prostrated me. And I criedwith horror as I ne'er cried before. But mine own crying awoke me:- and I came to myself.- Thus did Zarathustra relate his dream, and then was silent: for asyet he knew not the interpretation thereof. But the disciple whom heloved most arose quickly, seized Zarathustra's hand, and said: "Thy life itself interpreteth unto us this dream, O Zarathustra! Art thou not thyself the wind with shrill whistling, whichbursteth open the gates of the fortress of Death? Art thou not thyself the coffin full of many-hued malices andangel-caricatures of life? Verily, like a thousand peals of children's laughter comethZarathustra into all sepulchres, laughing at those night-watchmenand grave-guardians, and whoever else rattleth with sinister keys. With thy laughter wilt thou frighten and prostrate them: faintingand recovering wilt thou demonstrate thy power over them. And when the long twilight cometh and the mortal weariness, eventhen wilt thou not disappear from our firmament, thou advocate oflife! New stars hast thou made us see, and new nocturnal glories:verily, laughter itself hast thou spread out over us like amany-hued canopy. Now will children's laughter ever from coffins flow; now will astrong wind ever come victoriously unto all mortal weariness: ofthis thou art thyself the pledge and the prophet! Verily, they themselves didst thou dream, thine enemies: that wasthy sorest dream. But as thou awokest from them and camest to thyself, so shall theyawaken from themselves- and come unto thee! Thus spake the disciple; and all the others then thronged aroundZarathustra, grasped him by the hands, and tried to persuade him toleave his bed and his sadness, and return unto them. Zarathustra,however, sat upright on his couch, with an absent look. Like onereturning from long foreign sojourn did he look on his disciples,and examined their features; but still he knew them not. When,however, they raised him, and set him upon his feet, behold, all ona sudden his eye changed; he understood everything that hadhappened, stroked his beard, and said with a strong voice: "Well! this hath just its time; but see to it, my disciples, that wehave a good repast; and without delay! Thus do I mean to make amendsfor bad dreams! The soothsayer, however, shall eat and drink at my side: and verily,I will yet show him a sea in which he can drown himself!"-

Thus spake Zarathustra. Then did he gaze long into the face of thedisciple who had been the dream-interpreter, and shook his head.- 42. Redemption

WHEN Zarathustra went one day over the great bridge, then did thecripples and beggars surround him, and a hunchback spake thus untohim: "Behold, Zarathustra! Even the people learn from thee, and acquirefaith in thy teaching: but for them to believe fully in thee, onething is still needful- thou must first of all convince us cripples!Here hast thou now a fine selection, and verily, an opportunity withmore than one forelock! The blind canst thou heal, and make the lamerun; and from him who hath too much behind, couldst thou well, also,take away a little;- that, I think, would be the right method tomake the cripples believe in Zarathustra!" Zarathustra, however, answered thus unto him who so spake: Whenone taketh his hump from the hunchback, then doth one take from himhis spirit- so do the people teach. And when one giveth the blindman eyes, then doth he see too many bad things on the earth: so thathe curseth him who healed him. He, however, who maketh the lame manrun, inflicteth upon him the greatest injury; for hardly can he run,when his vices run away with him- so do the people teach concerningcripples. And why should not Zarathustra also learn from the people,when the people learn from Zarathustra? It is, however, the smallest thing unto me since I have been amongstmen, to see one person lacking an eye, another an ear, and a third aleg, and that others have lost the tongue, or the nose, or the head. I see and have seen worse things, and divers things so hideous, thatI should neither like to speak of all matters, nor even keep silentabout some of them: namely, men who lack everything, except thatthey have too much of one thing- men who are nothing more than a bigeye, or a big mouth, or a big belly, or something else big,-reversed cripples, I call such men. And when I came out of my solitude, and for the first time passedover this bridge, then I could not trust mine eyes, but looked againand again, and said at last: "That is an ear! An ear as big as a man!"I looked still more attentively- and actually there did move under theear something that was pitiably small and poor and slim. And intruth this immense ear was perched on a small thin stalk- the stalk,however, was a man! A person putting a glass to his eyes, could evenrecognise further a small envious countenance, and also that a bloatedsoullet dangled at the stalk. The people told me, however, that thebig ear was not only a man, but a great man, a genius. But I neverbelieved in the people when they spake of great men- and I hold tomy belief that it was a reversed cripple, who had too little ofeverything, and too much of one thing. When Zarathustra had spoken thus unto the hunchback, and untothose of whom the hunchback was the mouthpiece and advocate, thendid he turn to his disciples in profound dejection, and said: Verily, my friends, I walk amongst men as amongst the fragmentsand limbs of human beings! This is the terrible thing to mine eye, that I find man broken up,and scattered about, as on a battle- and butcher-ground. And when mine eye fleeth from the present to the bygone, itfindeth ever the same: fragments and limbs and fearful chances- but nomen! The present and the bygone upon earth- ah! my friends- that is mymost unbearable trouble; and I should not know how to live, if Iwere not a seer of what is to come. A seer, a purposer, a creator, a future itself, and a bridge tothe future- and alas! also as it were a cripple on this bridge: allthat is Zarathustra. And ye also asked yourselves often: "Who is Zarathustra to us?What shall he be called by us?" And like me, did ye give yourselvesquestions for answers. Is he a promiser? Or a fulfiller? A conqueror? Or an inheritor? Aharvest? Or a ploughshare? A physician? Or a healed one? Is he a poet? Or a genuine one? An emancipator? Or a subjugator? Agood one? Or an evil one? I walk amongst men as the fragments of the future: that future whichI contemplate. And it is all my poetisation and aspiration to compose and collectinto unity what is fragment and riddle and fearful chance. And how could I endure to be a man, if man were not also thecomposer, and riddle-reader, and redeemer of chance! To redeem what is past, and to transform every "It was" into "Thuswould I have it!"- that only do I call redemption! Will- so is the emancipator and joy-bringer called: thus have Itaught you, my friends! But now learn this likewise: the Will itselfis still a prisoner. Willing emancipateth: but what is that called which still putteththe emancipator in chains? "It was": thus is the Will's teeth-gnashing and lonesomesttribulation called. Impotent towards what hath been done- it is amalicious spectator of all that is past. Not backward can the Will will; that it cannot break time and time'sdesire- that is the Will's lonesomest tribulation. Willing emancipateth: what doth Willing itself devise in order toget free from its tribulation and mock at its prison? Ah, a fool becometh every prisoner! Foolishly delivereth itself alsothe imprisoned Will. That time doth not run backward- that is its animosity: "Thatwhich was": so is the stone which it cannot roll called. And thus doth it roll stones out of animosity and ill-humour, andtaketh revenge on whatever doth not, like it, feel rage andill-humour. Thus did the Will, the emancipator, become a torturer; and on allthat is capable of suffering it taketh revenge, because it cannot gobackward. This, yea, this alone is revenge itself: the Will's antipathy totime, and its "It was." Verily, a great folly dwelleth in our Will; and it became a curseunto all humanity, that this folly acquired spirit! The spirit of revenge: my friends, that hath hitherto been man'sbest contemplation; and where there was suffering, it was claimedthere was always penalty. "Penalty," so calleth itself revenge. With a lying word itfeigneth a good conscience. And because in the willer himself there is suffering, because hecannot will backwards- thus was Willing itself, and all life, claimed-to be penalty! And then did cloud after cloud roll over the spirit, until at lastmadness preached: "Everything perisheth, therefore everythingdeserveth to perish!" "And this itself is justice, the law of time- that he must devourhis children:" thus did madness preach. "Morally are things ordered according to justice and penalty. Oh,where is there deliverance from the flux of things and from the'existence' of penalty?" Thus did madness preach. "Can there be deliverance when there is eternal justice? Alas,unrollable is the stone, 'It was': eternal must also be allpenalties!" Thus did madness preach. "No deed can be annihilated: how could it be undone by thepenalty! This, this is what is eternal in the 'existence' ofpenalty, that existence also must be eternally recurring deed andguilt! Unless the Will should at last deliver itself, and Willing becomenon-Willing-:" but ye know, my brethren, this fabulous song ofmadness! Away from those fabulous songs did I lead you when I taught you:"The Will is a creator." All "It was" is a fragment, a riddle, a fearful chance- until thecreating Will saith thereto: "But thus would I have it."- Until the creating Will saith thereto: "But thus do I will it!Thus shall I will it!" But did it ever speak thus? And when doth this take place? Haththe Will been unharnessed from its own folly? Hath the Will become its own deliverer and joy-bringer? Hath itunlearned the spirit of revenge and all teeth-gnashing? And who hath taught it reconciliation with time, and somethinghigher than all reconciliation? Something higher than all reconciliation must the Will will which isthe Will to Power-: but how doth that take place? Who hath taught italso to will backwards? -But at this point in his discourse it chanced that Zarathustrasuddenly paused, and looked like a person in the greatest alarm.With terror in his eyes did he gaze on his disciples; his glancespierced as with arrows their thoughts and arrear-thoughts. But after abrief space he again laughed, and said soothedly: "It is difficult to live amongst men, because silence is sodifficult- especially for a babbler."-

Thus spake Zarathustra. The hunchback, however, had listened tothe conversation and had covered his face during the time; but when heheard Zarathustra laugh, he looked up with curiosity, and said slowly: "But why doth Zarathustra speak otherwise unto us than unto hisdisciples?" Zarathustra answered: "What is there to be wondered at! Withhunchbacks one May well speak in a hunchbacked way!" "Very good," said the hunchback; "and with pupils one may welltell tales out of school. But why doth Zarathustra speak otherwise unto his pupils- thanunto himself?"- 43. Manly Prudence

NOT the height, it is the declivity that is terrible! The declivity, where the gaze shooteth downwards, and the handgraspeth upwards. There doth the heart become giddy through its doublewill. Ah, friends, do ye divine also my heart's double will? This, this is my declivity and my danger, that my gaze shootethtowards the summit, and my hand would fain clutch and lean- on thedepth! To man clingeth my will; with chains do I bind myself to man,because I am pulled upwards to the Superman: for thither doth mineother will tend. And therefore do I live blindly among men, as if I knew them not:that my hand may not entirely lose belief in firmness. I know not you men: this gloom and consolation is often spreadaround me. I sit at the gateway for every rogue, and ask: Who wisheth todeceive me? This is my first manly prudence, that I allow myself to be deceived,so as not to be on my guard against deceivers. Ah, if I were on my guard against man, how could man be an anchor tomy ball! Too easily would I be pulled upwards and away! This providence is over my fate, that I have to be withoutforesight. And he who would not languish amongst men, must learn to drink outof all glasses; and he who would keep clean amongst men, must know howto wash himself even with dirty water. And thus spake I often to myself for consolation: "Courage! Cheerup! old heart! An unhappiness hath failed to befall thee: enjoy thatas thy- happiness!" This, however, is mine other manly prudence: I am more forbearing tothe vain than to the proud. Is not wounded vanity the mother of all tragedies? Where, however,pride is wounded, there there groweth up something better than pride. That life may be fair to behold, its game must be well played; forthat purpose, however, it needeth good actors. Good actors have I found all the vain ones: they play, and wishpeople to be fond of beholding them- all their spirit is in this wish. They represent themselves, they invent themselves; in theirneighbourhood I like to look upon life- it cureth of melancholy. Therefore am I forbearing to the vain, because they are thephysicians of my melancholy, and keep me attached to man as to adrama. And further, who conceiveth the full depth of the modesty of thevain man! I am favourable to him, and sympathetic on account of hismodesty. From you would he learn his belief in himself; he feedeth uponyour glances, he eateth praise out of your hands. Your lies doth he even believe when you lie favourably about him:for in its depths sigheth his heart: "What am I?" And if that be the true virtue which is unconscious of itself- well,the vain man is unconscious of his modesty!- This is, however, my third manly prudence: I am not put out ofconceit with the wicked by your timorousness. I am happy to see the marvels the warm sun hatcheth: tigers andpalms and rattlesnakes. Also amongst men there is a beautiful brood of the warm sun, andmuch that is marvellous in the wicked. In truth, as your wisest did not seem to me so very wise, so found Ialso human wickedness below the fame of it. And oft did I ask with a shake of the head: Why still rattle, yerattlesnakes? Verily, there is still a future even for evil! And the warmest southis still undiscovered by man. How many things are now called the worst wickedness, which areonly twelve feet broad and three months long! Some day, however,will greater dragons come into the world. For that the Superman may not lack his dragon, the super-dragon thatis worthy of him, there must still much warm sun glow on moistvirgin forests! Out of your wild cats must tigers have evolved, and out of yourpoison-toads, crocodiles: for the good hunter shall have a good hunt! And verily, ye good and just! In you there is much to be laughed at,and especially your fear of what hath hitherto been called "thedevil!" So alien are ye in your souls to what is great, that to you theSuperman would be frightful in his goodness! And ye wise and knowing ones, ye would flee from the solar-glow ofthe wisdom in which the Superman joyfully batheth his nakedness! Ye highest men who have come within my ken! this is my doubt of you,and my secret laughter: I suspect ye would call my Superman- a devil! Ah, I became tired of those highest and best ones: from their"height" did I long to be up, out, and away to the Superman! A horror came over me when I saw those best ones naked: then theregrew for me the pinions to soar away into distant futures. Into more distant futures, into more southern souths than everartist dreamed of: thither, where gods are ashamed of all clothes! But disguised do I want to see you, ye neighbours and fellowmen, andwell-attired and vain and estimable, as "the good and just;"- And disguised will I myself sit amongst you- that I may mistakeyou and myself: for that is my last manly prudence.-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 44. The Stillest Hour

WHAT hath happened unto me, my friends? Ye see me troubled, drivenforth, unwillingly obedient, ready to go- alas, to go away from you! Yea, once more must Zarathustra retire to his solitude: butunjoyously this time doth the bear go back to his cave! What hath happened unto me? Who ordereth this?- Ah, mine angrymistress wisheth it so; she spake unto me. Have I ever named hername to you? Yesterday towards evening there spake unto me my stillest hour: thatis the name of my terrible mistress. And thus did it happen- for everything must I tell you, that yourheart may not harden against the suddenly departing one! Do ye know the terror of him who falleth asleep?- To the very toes he is terrified, because the ground giveth wayunder him, and the dream beginneth. This do I speak unto you in parable. Yesterday at the stillesthour did the ground give way under me: the dream began. The hour-hand moved on, the timepiece of my life drew breath-never did I hear such stillness around me, so that my heart wasterrified. Then was there spoken unto me without voice: "Thou knowest it,Zarathustra?"- And I cried in terror at this whispering, and the blood left myface: but I was silent. Then was there once more spoken unto me without voice: "Thou knowestit, Zarathustra, but thou dost not speak it!"- And at last I answered, like one defiant: "Yea, I know it, but Iwill not speak it!" Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: "Thou wilt not,Zarathustra? Is this true? Conceal thyself not behind thy defiance!"- And I wept and trembled like a child, and said: "Ah, I would indeed,but how can I do it! Exempt me only from this! It is beyond my power!" Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: "What matterabout thyself, Zarathustra! Speak thy word, and succumb!" And I answered: "Ah, is it my word? Who am I? I await the worthierone; I am not worthy even to succumb by it." Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: "What matterabout thyself? Thou art not yet humble enough for me. Humility haththe hardest skin."- And I answered: "What hath not the skin of my humility endured! Atthe foot of my height do I dwell: how high are my summits, no one hathyet told me. But well do I know my valleys." Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: "O Zarathustra,he who hath to remove mountains removeth also valleys and plains."- And I answered: "As yet hath my word not removed mountains, and whatI have spoken hath not reached man. I went, indeed, unto men, butnot yet have I attained unto them." Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: "What knowestthou thereof! The dew falleth on the grass when the night is mostsilent."- And I answered: "They mocked me when I found and walked in mineown path; and certainly did my feet then tremble. And thus did they speak unto me: Thou forgottest the path before,now dost thou also forget how to walk!" Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: "What matterabout their mockery! Thou art one who hast unlearned to obey: nowshalt thou command! Knowest thou not who is most needed by all? He who commandethgreat things. To execute great things is difficult: but the more difficult task isto command great things. This is thy most unpardonable obstinacy: thou hast the power, andthou wilt not rule."- And I answered: "I lack the lion's voice for all commanding." Then was there again spoken unto me as a whispering: "It is thestillest words which bring the storm. Thoughts that come with doves'footsteps guide the world. O Zarathustra, thou shalt go as a shadow of that which is to come:thus wilt thou command, and in commanding go foremost."- And I answered: "I am ashamed." Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: "Thou must yetbecome a child, and be without shame. The pride of youth is still upon thee; late hast thou becomeyoung: but he who would become a child must surmount even his youth."- And I considered a long while, and trembled. At last, however, did Isay what I had said at first. "I will not." Then did a laughing take place all around me. Alas, how thatlaughing lacerated my bowels and cut into my heart! And there was spoken unto me for the last time: "O Zarathustra,thy fruits are ripe, but thou art not ripe for thy fruits! So must thou go again into solitude: for thou shalt yet becomemellow."- And again was there a laughing, and it fled: then did it becomestill around me, as with a double stillness. I lay, however, on theground, and the sweat flowed from my limbs. -Now have ye heard all, and why I have to return into my solitude.Nothing have I kept hidden from you, my friends. But even this have ye heard from me, who is still the mostreserved of men- and will be so! Ah, my friends! I should have something more to say unto you! Ishould have something more to give unto you! Why do I not give it?Am I then a niggard?- When, however, Zarathustra had spoken these words, the violence ofhis pain, and a sense of the nearness of his departure from hisfriends came over him, so that he wept aloud; and no one knew how toconsole him. In the night, however, he went away alone and left hisfriends. THIRD PART.

"Ye look aloft when ye long for exaltation, and I look downwardbecause I am exalted. "Who among you can at the same time laugh and be exalted? "He who climbeth on the highest mountains, laugheth at all tragicplays and tragic realities."- ZARATHUSTRA, I., "Reading and Writing."

45. The Wanderer

THEN, when it was about midnight, Zarathustra went his way overthe ridge of the isle, that he might arrive early in the morning atthe other coast; because there he meant to embark. For there was agood roadstead there, in which foreign ships also liked to anchor:those ships took many people with them, who wished to cross overfrom the Happy Isles. So when Zarathustra thus ascended themountain, he thought on the way of his many solitary wanderings fromyouth onwards, and how many mountains and ridges and summits he hadalready climbed. I am a wanderer and mountain-climber, said he to his heart. I lovenot the plains, and it seemeth I cannot long sit still. And whatever may still overtake me as fate and experience- awandering will be therein, and a mountain-climbing: in the end oneexperienceth only oneself. The time is now past when accidents could befall me; and whatcould now fall to my lot which would not already be mine own! It returneth only, it cometh home to me at last- mine own Self,and such of it as hath been long abroad, and scattered among thingsand accidents. And one thing more do I know: I stand now before my last summit, andbefore that which hath been longest reserved for me. Ah, my hardestpath must I ascend! Ah, I have begun my lonesomest wandering! He, however, who is of my nature doth not avoid such an hour: thehour that saith unto him: Now only dost thou go the way to thygreatness! Summit and abyss- these are now comprised together! Thou goest the way to thy greatness: now hath it become thy lastrefuge, what was hitherto thy last danger! Thou goest the way to thy greatness: it must now be thy best couragethat there is no longer any path behind thee! Thou goest the way to thy greatness: here shall no one steal afterthee! Thy foot itself hath effaced the path behind thee, and over itstandeth written: Impossibility. And if all ladders henceforth fail thee, then must thou learn tomount upon thine own head: how couldst thou mount upward otherwise? Upon thine own head, and beyond thine own heart! Now must thegentlest in thee become the hardest. He who hath always much-indulged himself, sickeneth at last by hismuch-indulgence. Praises on what maketh hardy! I do not praise theland where butter and honey- flow! To learn to look away from oneself, is necessary in order to seemany things.- this hardiness is needed by every mountain-climber. He, however, who is obtrusive with his eyes as a discerner, howcan he ever see more of anything than its foreground! But thou, O Zarathustra, wouldst view the ground of everything,and its background: thus must thou mount even above thyself- up,upwards, until thou hast even thy stars under thee! Yea! To look down upon myself, and even upon my stars: that onlywould I call my summit, that hath remained for me as my last summit!- Thus spake Zarathustra to himself while ascending, comforting hisheart with harsh maxims: for he was sore at heart as he had never beenbefore. And when he had reached the top of the mountain-ridge, behold,there lay the other sea spread out before him; and he stood stilland was long silent. The night, however, was cold at this height,and clear and starry. I recognise my destiny, said he at last, sadly. Well! I am ready.Now hath my last lonesomeness begun. Ah, this sombre, sad sea, below me! Ah, this sombre nocturnalvexation! Ah, fate and sea! To you must I now go down! Before my highest mountain do I stand, and before my longestwandering: therefore must I first go deeper down than I ever ascended: -Deeper down into pain than I ever ascended, even into its darkestflood! So willeth my fate. Well! I am ready. Whence come the highest mountains? so did I once ask. Then did Ilearn that they come out of the sea. That testimony is inscribed on their stones, and on the walls oftheir summits. Out of the deepest must the highest come to itsheight.-

Thus spake Zarathustra on the ridge of the mountain where it wascold: when, however, he came into the vicinity of the sea, and at laststood alone amongst the cliffs, then had he become weary on his way,and eagerer than ever before. Everything as yet sleepeth, said he; even the sea sleepeth. Drowsilyand strangely doth its eye gaze upon me. But it breatheth warmly- I feel it. And I feel also that itdreameth. It tosseth about dreamily on hard pillows. Hark! Hark! How it groaneth with evil recollections! Or evilexpectations? Ah, I am sad along with thee, thou dusky monster, and angry withmyself even for thy sake. Ah, that my hand hath not strength enough! Gladly, indeed, would Ifree thee from evil dreams!-

And while Zarathustra thus spake, he laughed at himself withmelancholy and bitterness. What! Zarathustra, said he, wilt thoueven sing consolation to the sea? Ah, thou amiable fool, Zarathustra, thou too-blindly confidingone! But thus hast thou ever been: ever hast thou approachedconfidently all that is terrible. Every monster wouldst thou caress. A whiff of warm breath, alittle soft tuft on its paw:- and immediately wert thou ready tolove and lure it. Love is the danger of the lonesomest one, love to anything, if itonly live! Laughable, verily, is my folly and my modesty in love!-

Thus spake Zarathustra, and laughed thereby a second time. Then,however, he thought of his abandoned friends- and as if he had donethem a wrong with his thoughts, he upbraided himself because of histhoughts. And forthwith it came to pass that the laugher wept- withanger and longing wept Zarathustra bitterly. 46. The Vision and the Enigma

1.

WHEN it got abroad among the sailors that Zarathustra was on boardthe ship- for a man who came from the Happy Isles had gone on boardalong with him,- there was great curiosity and expectation. ButZarathustra kept silent for two days, and was cold and deaf withsadness; so that he neither answered looks nor questions. On theevening of the second day, however, he again opened his ears, thoughhe still kept silent: for there were many curious and dangerous thingsto be heard on board the ship, which came from afar, and was to gostill further. Zarathustra, however, was fond of all those who makedistant voyages, and dislike to live without danger. And behold!when listening, his own tongue was at last loosened, and the ice ofhis heart broke. Then did he begin to speak thus: To you, the daring venturers and adventurers, and whoever hathembarked with cunning sails upon frightful seas,- To you the enigma-intoxicated, the twilight-enjoyers, whose soulsare allured by flutes to every treacherous gulf: -For ye dislike to grope at a thread with cowardly hand; and whereye can divine, there do ye hate to calculate- To you only do I tell the enigma that I saw- the vision of thelonesomest one.- Gloomily walked I lately in corpse-coloured twilight- gloomily andsternly, with compressed lips. Not only one sun had set for me. A path which ascended daringly among boulders, an evil, lonesomepath, which neither herb nor shrub any longer cheered, amountain-path, crunched under the daring of my foot. Mutely marching over the scornful clinking of pebbles, trampling thestone that let it slip: thus did my foot force its way upwards. Upwards:- in spite of the spirit that drew it downwards, towards theabyss, the spirit of gravity, my devil and archenemy. Upwards:- although it sat upon me, half-dwarf, half-mole; paralysed,paralysing; dripping lead in mine ear, and thoughts like drops of leadinto my brain. "O Zarathustra," it whispered scornfully, syllable by syllable,"thou stone of wisdom! Thou threwest thyself high, but every thrownstone must- fall! O Zarathustra, thou stone of wisdom, thou sling-stone, thoustar-destroyer! Thyself threwest thou so high,- but every thrownstone- must fall! Condemned of thyself, and to thine own stoning: O Zarathustra, farindeed threwest thou thy stone- but upon thyself will it recoil!" Then was the dwarf silent; and it lasted long. The silence, however,oppressed me; and to be thus in pairs, one is verily lonesomer thanwhen alone! I ascended, I ascended, I dreamt, I thought,- but everythingoppressed me. A sick one did I resemble, whom bad torture wearieth,and a worse dream reawakeneth out of his first sleep.- But there is something in me which I call courage: it hathhitherto slain for me every dejection. This courage at last bade mestand still and say: "Dwarf! Thou! Or I!"- For courage is the best slayer,- courage which attacketh: for inevery attack there is sound of triumph. Man, however, is the most courageous animal: thereby hath heovercome every animal. With sound of triumph hath he overcome everypain; human pain, however, is the sorest pain. Courage slayeth also giddiness at abysses: and where doth man notstand at abysses! Is not seeing itself- seeing abysses? Courage is the best slayer: courage slayeth also fellow-suffering.Fellow-suffering, however, is the deepest abyss: as deeply as manlooketh into life, so deeply also doth he look into suffering. Courage, however, is the best slayer, courage which attacketh: itslayeth even death itself; for it saith: "Was that life? Well! Oncemore!" In such speech, however, there is much sound of triumph. He who hathears to hear, let him hear.-

2.

"Halt, dwarf!" said I. "Either I- or thou! I, however, am thestronger of the two:- thou knowest not mine abysmal thought! It-couldst thou not endure!" Then happened that which made me lighter: for the dwarf sprangfrom my shoulder, the prying sprite! And it squatted on a stone infront of me. There was however a gateway just where we halted. "Look at this gateway! Dwarf!" I continued, "it hath two faces.Two roads come together here: these hath no one yet gone to the endof. This long lane backwards: it continueth for an eternity. And thatlong lane forward- that is another eternity. They are antithetical to one another, these roads; they directlyabut on one another:- and it is here, at this gateway, that theycome together. The name of the gateway is inscribed above: 'ThisMoment.' But should one follow them further- and ever further and further on,thinkest thou, dwarf, that these roads would be eternallyantithetical?"- "Everything straight lieth," murmured the dwarf, contemptuously."All truth is crooked; time itself is a circle." "Thou spirit of gravity!" said I wrathfully, "do not take it toolightly! Or I shall let thee squat where thou squattest, Haltfoot,-and I carried thee high!" "Observe," continued I, "This Moment! From the gateway, This Moment,there runneth a long eternal lane backwards: behind us lieth aneternity. Must not whatever can run its course of all things, have already runalong that lane? Must not whatever can happen of all things havealready happened, resulted, and gone by? And if everything has already existed, what thinkest thou, dwarf, ofThis Moment? Must not this gateway also- have already existed? And are not all things closely bound together in such wise that ThisMoment draweth all coming things after it? Consequently- itself also? For whatever can run its course of all things, also in this longlane outward- must it once more run!- And this slow spider which creepeth in the moonlight, and thismoonlight itself, and thou and I in this gateway whisperingtogether, whispering of eternal things- must we not all have alreadyexisted? -And must we not return and run in that other lane out before us,that long weird lane- must we not eternally return?"- Thus did I speak, and always more softly: for I was afraid of mineown thoughts, and arrear-thoughts. Then, suddenly did I hear a doghowl near me. Had I ever heard a dog howl thus? My thoughts ran back. Yes! WhenI was a child, in my most distant childhood: -Then did I hear a dog howl thus. And saw it also, with hairbristling, its head upwards, trembling in the stillest midnight,when even dogs believe in ghosts: -So that it excited my commiseration. For just then went the fullmoon, silent as death, over the house; just then did it stand still, aglowing globe- at rest on the flat roof, as if on some one'sproperty:- Thereby had the dog been terrified: for dogs believe in thievesand ghosts. And when I again heard such howling, then did it excite mycommiseration once more. Where was now the dwarf? And the gateway? And the spider? And allthe whispering? Had I dreamt? Had I awakened? 'Twixt rugged rocksdid I suddenly stand alone, dreary in the dreariest moonlight. But there lay a man! And there! The dog leaping, bristling, whining-now did it see me coming- then did it howl again, then did it cry:-had I ever heard a dog cry so for help? And verily, what I saw, the like had I never seen. A youngshepherd did I see, writhing, choking, quivering, with distortedcountenance, and with a heavy black serpent hanging out of his mouth. Had I ever seen so much loathing and pale horror on one countenance?He had perhaps gone to sleep? Then had the serpent crawled into histhroat- there had it bitten itself fast. My hand pulled at the serpent, and pulled:- in vain! I failed topull the serpent out of his throat. Then there cried out of me: "Bite!Bite! Its head off! Bite!"- so cried it out of me; my horror, my hatred,my loathing, my pity, all my good and my bad cried with one voiceout of me.- Ye daring ones around me! Ye venturers and adventurers, andwhoever of you have embarked with cunning sails on unexplored seas! Yeenigma-enjoyers! Solve unto me the enigma that I then beheld, interpret unto me thevision of the lonesomest one! For it was a vision and a foresight:- what did I then behold inparable? And who is it that must come some day? Who is the shepherd into whose throat the serpent thus crawled?Who is the man into whose throat all the heaviest and blackest willthus crawl? -The shepherd however bit as my cry had admonished him; he bitwith a strong bite! Far away did he spit the head of the serpent:- andsprang up.- No longer shepherd, no longer man- a transfigured being, alight-surrounded being, that laughed! Never on earth laughed a manas he laughed! O my brethren, I heard a laughter which was no human laughter,-and now gnaweth a thirst at me, a longing that is never allayed. My longing for that laughter gnaweth at me: oh, how can I stillendure to live! And how could I endure to die at present!-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 47. Involuntary Bliss

WITH such enigmas and bitterness in his heart did Zarathustra sailo'er the sea. When, however, he was four day-journeys from the HappyIsles and from his friends, then had he surmounted all his pain:-triumphantly and with firm foot did he again accept his fate. And thentalked Zarathustra in this wise to his exulting conscience:

Alone am I again, and like to be so, alone with the pure heaven, andthe open sea; and again is the afternoon around me. On an afternoon did I find my friends for the first time; on anafternoon, also, did I find them a second time:- at the hour whenall light becometh stiller. For whatever happiness is still on its way 'twixt heaven andearth, now seeketh for lodging a luminous soul: with happiness hathall light now become stiller. O afternoon of my life! Once did my happiness also descend to thevalley that it might seek a lodging: then did it find those openhospitable souls. O afternoon of my life! What did I not surrender that I might haveone thing: this living plantation of my thoughts, and this dawn ofmy highest hope! Companions did the creating one once seek, and children of his hope:and lo, it turned out that he could not find them, except he himselfshould first create them. Thus am I in the midst of my work, to my children going, and fromthem returning: for the sake of his children must Zarathustraperfect himself. For in one's heart one loveth only one's child and one's work; andwhere there is great love to oneself, then is it the sign ofpregnancy: so have I found it. Still are my children verdant in their first spring, standing nighone another, and shaken in common by the winds, the trees of my gardenand of my best soil. And verily, where such trees stand beside one another, there areHappy Isles! But one day will I take them up, and put each by itself alone:that it may learn lonesomeness and defiance and prudence. Gnarled and crooked and with flexible hardness shall it then standby the sea, a living lighthouse of unconquerable life. Yonder where the storms rush down into the sea, and the snout of themountain drinketh water, shall each on a time have his day and nightwatches, for his testing and recognition. Recognised and tested shall each be, to see if he be of my typeand lineage:- if he be master of a long will, silent even when hespeaketh, and giving in such wise that he taketh in giving:- -So that he may one day become my companion, a fellow-creator andfellow-enjoyer with Zarathustra:- such a one as writeth my will onmy tables, for the fuller perfection of all things. And for his sake and for those like him, must I perfect myself:therefore do I now avoid my happiness, and present myself to everymisfortune- for my final testing and recognition. And verily, it were time that I went away; and the wanderer's shadowand the longest tedium and the stillest hour- have all said unto me:"It is the highest time!" The word blew to me through the keyhole and said "Come!" The doorsprang subtly open unto me, and said "Go!" But I lay enchained to my love for my children: desire spread thissnare for me- the desire for love- that I should become the prey of mychildren, and lose myself in them. Desiring- that is now for me to have lost myself. I possess you,my children! In this possessing shall everything be assurance andnothing desire. But brooding lay the sun of my love upon me, in his own juice stewedZarathustra,- then did shadows and doubts fly past me. For frost and winter I now longed: "Oh, that frost and winterwould again make me crack and crunch!" sighed I:- then arose icymist out of me. My past burst its tomb, many pains buried alike woke up:- fullyslept had they merely, concealed in corpse-clothes. So called everything unto me in signs: "It is time!" But I- heardnot, until at last mine abyss moved, and my thought bit me. Ah, abysmal thought, which art my thought! When shall I findstrength to hear thee burrowing, and no longer tremble? To my very throat throbbeth my heart when I hear them burrowing! Thymuteness even is like to strangle me, thou abysmal mute one! As yet have I never ventured to call thee up; it hath been enoughthat I- have carried thee about with me! As yet have I not been strongenough for my final lion-wantonness and playfulness. Sufficiently formidable unto me hath thy weight ever been: but oneday shall I yet find the strength and the lion's voice which will callthee up! When I shall have surmounted myself therein, then will I surmountmyself also in that which is greater; and a victory shall be theseal of my perfection!- Meanwhile do I sail along on uncertain seas; chance flattereth me,smooth-tongued chance; forward and backward do I gaze-, still see I noend. As yet hath the hour of my final struggle not come to me- or doth itcome to me perhaps just now? Verily, with insidious beauty do seaand life gaze upon me round about: O afternoon of my life! O happiness before eventide! O haven uponhigh seas! O peace in uncertainty! How I distrust all of you! Verily, distrustful am I of your insidious beauty! Like the lover amI, who distrusteth too sleek smiling. As he pusheth the best-beloved before him- tender even inseverity, the jealous one-, so do I push this blissful hour before me. Away with thee, thou blissful hour! With thee hath there come tome an involuntary bliss! Ready for my severest pain do I herestand:- at the wrong time hast thou come! Away with thee, thou blissful hour! Rather harbour there- with mychildren! Hasten! and bless them before eventide with my happiness! There, already approacheth eventide: the sun sinketh. Away- myhappiness!-

Thus spake Zarathustra. And he waited for his misfortune the wholenight; but he waited in vain. The night remained clear and calm, andhappiness itself came nigher and nigher unto him. Towards morning,however, Zarathustra laughed to his heart, and said mockingly:"Happiness runneth after me. That is because I do not run after women.Happiness, however, is a woman." 48. Before Sunrise

O HEAVEN above me, thou pure, thou deep heaven! Thou abyss of light!Gazing on thee, I tremble with divine desires. Up to thy height to toss myself- that is my depth! In thy purityto hide myself- that is mine innocence! The God veileth his beauty: thus hidest thou thy stars. Thouspeakest not: thus proclaimest thou thy wisdom unto me. Mute o'er the raging sea hast thou risen for me to-day; thy love andthy modesty make a revelation unto my raging soul. In that thou camest unto me beautiful, veiled in thy beauty, in thatthou spakest unto me mutely, obvious in thy wisdom: Oh, how could I fail to divine all the modesty of thy soul! Beforethe sun didst thou come unto me- the lonesomest one. We have been friends from the beginning: to us are grief,gruesomeness, and ground common; even the sun is common to us. We do not speak to each other, because we know too much-: we keepsilent to each other, we smile our knowledge to each other. Art thou not the light of my fire? Hast thou not the sister-soulof mine insight? Together did we learn everything; together did we learn to ascendbeyond ourselves to ourselves, and to smile uncloudedly:- -Uncloudedly to smile down out of luminous eyes and out of milesof distance, when under us constraint and purpose and guilt streamlike rain. And wandered I alone, for what did my soul hunger by night and inlabyrinthine paths? And climbed I mountains, whom did I ever seek,if not thee, upon mountains? And all my wandering and mountain-climbing: a necessity was itmerely, and a makeshift of the unhandy one:- to fly only, wanteth mineentire will, to fly into thee! And what have I hated more than passing clouds, and whatevertainteth thee? And mine own hatred have I even hated, because ittainted thee! The passing clouds I detest- those stealthy cats of prey: theytake from thee and me what is common to us- the vast unbounded Yea-and Amen- saying. These mediators and mixers we detest- the passing clouds: thosehalf-and-half ones, that have neither learned to bless nor to cursefrom the heart. Rather will I sit in a tub under a closed heaven, rather will Isit in the abyss without heaven, than see thee, thou luminousheaven, tainted with passing clouds! And oft have I longed to pin them fast with the jagged gold-wires oflightning, that I might, like the thunder, beat the drum upon theirkettle-bellies:- -An angry drummer, because they rob me of thy Yea and Amen!- thouheaven above me, thou pure, thou luminous heaven! Thou abyss oflight!- because they rob thee of my Yea and Amen. For rather will I have noise and thunders and tempest-blasts, thanthis discreet, doubting cat-repose; and also amongst men do I hatemost of all the soft-treaders, and half-and-half ones, and thedoubting, hesitating, passing clouds. And "he who cannot bless shall learn to curse!"- this clear teachingdropt unto me from the clear heaven; this star standeth in my heaveneven in dark nights. I, however, am a blesser and a Yea-sayer, if thou be but aroundme, thou pure, thou luminous heaven! Thou abyss of light!- into allabysses do I then carry my beneficent Yea-saying. A blesser have I become and a Yea-sayer: and therefore strove I longand was a striver, that I might one day get my hands free forblessing. This, however, is my blessing: to stand above everything as itsown heaven, its round roof, its azure bell and eternal security: andblessed is he who thus blesseth! For all things are baptized at the font of eternity, and beyond goodand evil; good and evil themselves, however, are but fugitiveshadows and damp afflictions and passing clouds. Verily, it is a blessing and not a blasphemy when I teach that"above all things there standeth the heaven of chance, the heaven ofinnocence, the heaven of hazard, the heaven of wantonness." "Of Hazard"- that is the oldest nobility in the world; that gave Iback to all things; I emancipated them from bondage under purpose. This freedom and celestial serenity did I put like an azure bellabove all things, when I taught that over them and through them, no"eternal Will"- willeth. This wantonness and folly did I put in place of that Will, when Itaught that "In everything there is one thing impossible-rationality!" A little reason, to be sure, a germ of wisdom scattered from star tostar- this leaven is mixed in all things: for the sake of folly,wisdom is mixed in all things! A little wisdom is indeed possible; but this blessed security have Ifound in all things, that they prefer- to dance on the feet of chance. O heaven above me! thou pure, thou lofty heaven! This is now thypurity unto me, that there is no eternal reason-spider andreason-cobweb:- -That thou art to me a dancing-floor for divine chances, that thouart to me a table of the Gods, for divine dice and dice-players!- But thou blushest? Have I spoken unspeakable things? Have Iabused, when I meant to bless thee? Or is it the shame of being two of us that maketh thee blush!-Dost thou bid me go and be silent, because now- day cometh? The world is deep:- and deeper than e'er the day could read. Noteverything may be uttered in presence of day. But day cometh: so letus part! O heaven above me, thou modest one! thou glowing one! O thou, myhappiness before sunrise! The day cometh: so let us part!-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 49. The Bedwarfing Virtue

1.

WHEN Zarathustra was again on the continent, he did not gostraightway to his mountains and his cave, but made many wanderingsand questionings, and ascertained this and that; so that he said ofhimself jestingly: "Lo, a river that floweth back unto its source inmany windings!" For he wanted to learn what had taken place amongmen during the interval: whether they had become greater or smaller.And once, when he saw a row of new houses, he marvelled, and said: "What do these houses mean? Verily, no great soul put them up as itssimile! Did perhaps a silly child take them out of its toy-box? Would thatanother child put them again into the box! And these rooms and chambers- can men go out and in there? They seemto be made for silk dolls; or for dainty-eaters, who perhaps letothers eat with them." And Zarathustra stood still and meditated. At last he saidsorrowfully: "There hath everything become smaller! Everywhere do I see lower doorways: he who is of my type can stillgo therethrough, but- he must stoop! Oh, when shall I arrive again at my home, where I shall no longerhave to stoop- shall no longer have to stoop before the smallones!"- And Zarathustra sighed, and gazed into the distance.- The same day, however, he gave his discourse on the bedwarfingvirtue.

2.

I pass through this people and keep mine eyes open: they do notforgive me for not envying their virtues. They bite at me, because I say unto them that for small people,small virtues are necessary- and because it is hard for me tounderstand that small people are necessary! Here am I still like a cock in a strange farm-yard, at which eventhe hens peck: but on that account I am not unfriendly to the hens. I am courteous towards them, as towards all small annoyances; tobe prickly towards what is small, seemeth to me wisdom for hedgehogs. They all speak of me when they sit around their fire in the evening-they speak of me, but no one thinketh- of me! This is the new stillness which I have experienced: their noisearound me spreadeth a mantle over my thoughts. They shout to one another: "What is this gloomy cloud about to do tous? Let us see that it doth not bring a plague upon us!" And recently did a woman seize upon her child that was coming untome: "Take the children away," cried she, "such eyes scorchchildren's souls." They cough when I speak: they think coughing an objection tostrong winds- they divine nothing of the boisterousness of myhappiness! "We have not yet time for Zarathustra"- so they object; but whatmatter about a time that "hath no time" for Zarathustra? And if they should altogether praise me, how could I go to sleepon their praise? A girdle of spines is their praise unto me: itscratcheth me even when I take it off. And this also did I learn among them: the praiser doeth as if hegave back; in truth, however, he wanteth more to be given him! Ask my foot if their lauding and luring strains please it! Verily,to such measure and ticktack, it liketh neither to dance nor tostand still. To small virtues would they fain lure and laud me; to the ticktackof small happiness would they fain persuade my foot. I pass through this people and keep mine eyes open; they have becomesmaller, and ever become smaller:- the reason thereof is theirdoctrine of happiness and virtue. For they are moderate also in virtue,- because they want comfort.With comfort, however, moderate virtue only is compatible. To be sure, they also learn in their way to stride on and strideforward: that, I call their hobbling.- Thereby they become a hindranceto all who are in haste. And many of them go forward, and look backwards thereby, withstiffened necks: those do I like to run up against. Foot and eye shall not lie, nor give the lie to each other. Butthere is much lying among small people. Some of them will, but most of them are willed. Some of them aregenuine, but most of them are bad actors. There are actors without knowing it amongst them, and actors withoutintending it-, the genuine ones are always rare, especially thegenuine actors. Of man there is little here: therefore do their women masculinisethemselves. For only he who is man enough, will- save the woman inwoman. And this hypocrisy found I worst amongst them, that even those whocommand feign the virtues of those who serve. "I serve, thou servest, we serve"- so chanteth here even thehypocrisy of the rulers- and alas! if the first lord be only the firstservant! Ah, even upon their hypocrisy did mine eyes' curiosity alight; andwell did I divine all their fly- happiness, and their buzzing aroundsunny window-panes. So much kindness, so much weakness do I see. So much justice andpity, so much weakness. Round, fair, and considerate are they to one another, as grains ofsand are round, fair, and considerate to grains of sand. Modestly to embrace a small happiness- that do they call"submission"! and at the same time they peer modestly after a newsmall happiness. In their hearts they want simply one thing most of all: that noone hurt them. Thus do they anticipate every one's wishes and dowell unto every one. That, however, is cowardice, though it be called "virtue."- And when they chance to speak harshly, those small people, then do Ihear therein only their hoarseness- every draught of air maketh themhoarse. Shrewd indeed are they, their virtues have shrewd fingers. Butthey lack fists: their fingers do not know how to creep behind fists. Virtue for them is what maketh modest and tame: therewith havethey made the wolf a dog, and man himself man's best domestic animal. "We set our chair in the midst"- so saith their smirking unto me-"and as far from dying gladiators as from satisfied swine." That, however, is- mediocrity, though it be called moderation.-

3.

I pass through this people and let fall many words: but they knowneither how to take nor how to retain them. They wonder why I came not to revile venery and vice; and verily,I came not to warn against pickpockets either! They wonder why I am not ready to abet and whet their wisdom: asif they had not yet enough of wiseacres, whose voices grate on mineear like slate-pencils! And when I call out: "Curse all the cowardly devils in you, thatwould fain whimper and fold the hands and adore"- then do theyshout: "Zarathustra is godless." And especially do their teachers of submission shout this;- butprecisely in their ears do I love to cry: "Yea! I am Zarathustra,the godless!" Those teachers of submission! Wherever there is aught puny, orsickly, or scabby, there do they creep like lice; and only mydisgust preventeth me from cracking them. Well! This is my sermon for their ears: I am Zarathustra thegodless, who saith: "Who is more godless than I, that I may enjoyhis teaching?" I am Zarathustra the godless: where do I find mine equal? And allthose are mine equals who give unto themselves their Will, anddivest themselves of all submission. I am Zarathustra the godless! I cook every chance in my pot. Andonly when it hath been quite cooked do I welcome it as my food. And verily, many a chance came imperiously unto me: but still moreimperiously did my Will speak unto it,- then did it lie imploringlyupon its knees- -Imploring that it might find home and heart with me, and sayingflatteringly: "See, O Zarathustra, how friend only cometh untofriend!"- But why talk I, when no one hath mine ears! And so will I shout itout unto all the winds: Ye ever become smaller, ye small people! Ye crumble away, yecomfortable ones! Ye will yet perish- -By your many small virtues, by your many small omissions, and byyour many small submissions! Too tender, too yielding: so is your soil! But for a tree tobecome great, it seeketh to twine hard roots around hard rocks! Also what ye omit weaveth at the web of all the human future; evenyour naught is a cobweb, and a spider that liveth on the blood ofthe future. And when ye take, then is it like stealing, ye small virtuousones; but even among knaves honour saith that "one shall only stealwhen one cannot rob." "It giveth itself"- that is also a doctrine of submission. But I sayunto you, ye comfortable ones, that it taketh to itself, and will evertake more and more from you! Ah, that ye would renounce all half-willing, and would decide foridleness as ye decide for action! Ah, that ye understood my word: "Do ever what ye will- but firstbe such as can will. Love ever your neighbour as yourselves- but first be such as lovethemselves- -Such as love with great love, such as love with great contempt!"Thus speaketh Zarathustra the godless.- But why talk I, when no one hath mine ears! It is still an hourtoo early for me here. Mine own forerunner am I among this people, mine own cockcrow indark lanes. But their hour cometh! And there cometh also mine! Hourly do theybecome smaller, poorer, unfruitfuller,- poor herbs! poor earth! And soon shall they stand before me like dry grass and prairie,and verily, weary of themselves- and panting for fire, more than forwater! O blessed hour of the lightning! O mystery before noontide!- Runningfires will I one day make of them, and heralds with flaming tongues:- -Herald shall they one day with flaming tongues: It cometh, it isnigh, the great noontide!

Thus spake Zarathustra. 50. On the Olive-Mount

WINTER, a bad guest, sitteth with me at home; blue are my hands withhis friendly hand-shaking. I honour him, that bad guest, but gladly leave him alone. Gladlydo I run away from him; and when one runneth well, then one escapethhim! With warm feet and warm thoughts do I run where the wind is calm- tothe sunny corner of mine olive-mount. There do I laugh at my stern guest, and am still fond of him;because he cleareth my house of flies, and quieteth many littlenoises. For he suffereth it not if a gnat wanteth to buzz, or even two ofthem; also the lanes maketh he lonesome, so that the moonlight isafraid there at night. A hard guest is he,- but I honour him, and do not worship, likethe tenderlings, the pot-bellied fire-idol. Better even a little teeth-chattering than idol-adoration!- sowilleth my nature. And especially have I a grudge against allardent, steaming, steamy fire-idols. Him whom I love, I love better in winter than in summer; better do Inow mock at mine enemies, and more heartily, when winter sitteth in myhouse. Heartily, verily, even when I creep into bed-: there, still laughethand wantoneth my hidden happiness; even my deceptive dream laugheth. I, a- creeper? Never in my life did I creep before the powerful; andif ever I lied, then did I lie out of love. Therefore am I glad evenin my winter-bed. A poor bed warmeth me more than a rich one, for I am jealous of mypoverty. And in winter she is most faithful unto me. With a wickedness do I begin every day: I mock at the winter witha cold bath: on that account grumbleth my stern house-mate. Also do I like to tickle him with a wax-taper, that he may finallylet the heavens emerge from ashy-grey twilight. For especially wicked am I in the morning: at the early hour whenthe pail rattleth at the well, and horses neigh warmly in grey lanes:- Impatiently do I then wait, that the clear sky may finally dawnfor me, the snow-bearded winter-sky, the hoary one, the white-head,- -The winter-sky, the silent winter-sky, which often stifleth evenits sun! Did I perhaps learn from it the long clear silence? Or did itlearn it from me? Or hath each of us devised it himself? Of all good things the origin is a thousandfold,- all good roguishthings spring into existence for joy: how could they always do so- foronce only! A good roguish thing is also the long silence, and to look, like thewinter-sky, out of a clear, round-eyed countenance:- -Like it to stifle one's sun, and one's inflexible solar will:verily, this art and this winter-roguishness have I learned well! My best-loved wickedness and art is it, that my silence hath learnednot to betray itself by silence. Clattering with diction and dice, I outwit the solemn assistants:all those stern watchers, shall my will and purpose elude. That no one might see down into my depth and into mine ultimatewill- for that purpose did I devise the long clear silence. Many a shrewd one did I find: he veiled his countenance and made hiswater muddy, that no one might see therethrough and thereunder. But precisely unto him came the shrewder distrusters andnut-crackers: precisely from him did they fish his best-concealedfish! But the clear, the honest, the transparent- these are for me thewisest silent ones: in them, so profound is the depth that even theclearest water doth not- betray it.- Thou snow-bearded, silent, winter-sky, thou round-eyed whiteheadabove me! Oh, thou heavenly simile of my soul and its wantonness! And must I not conceal myself like one who hath swallowed gold- lestmy soul should be ripped up? Must I not wear stilts, that they may overlook my long legs- allthose enviers and injurers around me? Those dingy, fire-warmed, used-up, green-tinted, ill-naturedsouls- how could their envy endure my happiness! Thus do I show them only the ice and winter of my peaks- and notthat my mountain windeth all the solar girdles around it! They hear only the whistling of my winter-storms: and know notthat I also travel over warm seas, like longing, heavy, hotsouth-winds. They commiserate also my accidents and chances:- but my wordsaith: "Suffer the chance to come unto me: innocent is it as alittle child!" How could they endure my happiness, if I did not put around itaccidents, and winter-privations, and bear-skin caps, and enmantlingsnowflakes! -If I did not myself commiserate their pity, the pity of thoseenviers and injurers! -If I did not myself sigh before them, and chatter with cold, andpatiently let myself be swathed in their pity! This is the wise waggish-will and good-will of my soul, that itconcealeth not its winters and glacial storms; it concealeth not itschilblains either. To one man, lonesomeness is the flight of the sick one; toanother, it is the flight from the sick ones. Let them hear me chattering and sighing with winter-cold, allthose poor squinting knaves around me! With such sighing andchattering do I flee from their heated rooms. Let them sympathise with me and sigh with me on account of mychilblains: "At the ice of knowledge will he yet freeze to death!"- sothey mourn. Meanwhile do I run with warm feet hither and thither on mineolive-mount: in the sunny corner of mine olive-mount do I sing, andmock at all pity.-

Thus sang Zarathustra. 51. On Passing-by

THUS slowly wandering through many peoples and divers cities, didZarathustra return by round-about roads to his mountains and his cave.And behold, thereby came he unawares also to the gate of the greatcity. Here, however, a foaming fool, with extended hands, sprangforward to him and stood in his way. It was the same fool whom thepeople called "the ape of Zarathustra:" for he had learned from himsomething of the expression and modulation of language, and perhapsliked also to borrow from the store of his wisdom. And the fool talkedthus to Zarathustra: O Zarathustra, here is the great city: here hast thou nothing toseek and everything to lose. Why wouldst thou wade through this mire? Have pity upon thy foot!Spit rather on the gate of the city, and- turn back! Here is the hell for anchorites' thoughts: here are great thoughtsseethed alive and boiled small. Here do all great sentiments decay: here may only rattle-bonedsensations rattle! Smellest thou not already the shambles and cookshops of thespirit? Steameth not this city with the fumes of slaughtered spirit? Seest thou not the souls hanging like limp dirty rags?- And theymake newspapers also out of these rags! Hearest thou not how spirit hath here become a verbal game?Loathsome verbal swill doth it vomit forth!- And they makenewspapers also out of this verbal swill. They hound one another, and know not whither! They inflame oneanother, and know not why! They tinkle with their pinchbeck, theyjingle with their gold. They are cold, and seek warmth from distilled waters: they areinflamed, and seek coolness from frozen spirits; they are all sick andsore through public opinion. All lusts and vices are here at home; but here there are also thevirtuous; there is much appointable appointed virtue:- Much appointable virtue with scribe-fingers, and hardy sitting-fleshand waiting-flesh, blessed with small breast-stars, and padded,haunchless daughters. There is here also much piety, and much faithful spittle-licking andspittle-backing, before the God of Hosts. "From on high," drippeth the star, and the gracious spittle; for thehigh, longeth every starless bosom. The moon hath its court, and the court hath its moon-calves: untoall, however, that cometh from the court do the mendicant people pray,and all appointable mendicant virtues. "I serve, thou servest, we serve"- so prayeth all appointable virtueto the prince: that the merited star may at last stick on theslender breast! But the moon still revolveth around all that is earthly: sorevolveth also the prince around what is earthliest of all- that,however, is the gold of the shopman. The God of the Hosts of war is not the God of the golden bar; theprince proposeth, but the shopman- disposeth! By all that is luminous and strong and good in thee, OZarathustra! Spit on this city of shopmen and return back! Here floweth all blood putridly and tepidly and frothily through allveins: spit on the great city, which is the great slum where all thescum frotheth together! Spit on the city of compressed souls and slender breasts, of pointedeyes and sticky fingers- -On the city of the obtrusive, the brazen-faced, thepen-demagogues and tongue-demagogues, the overheated ambitious:- Where everything maimed, ill-famed, lustful, untrustful,over-mellow, sickly-yellow and seditious, festereth perniciously:- -Spit on the great city and turn back!-

Here, however, did Zarathustra interrupt the foaming fool, andshut his mouth.- Stop this at once! called out Zarathustra, long have thy speechand thy species disgusted me! Why didst thou live so long by the swamp, that thou thyself hadst tobecome a frog and a toad? Floweth there not a tainted, frothy, swamp-blood in thine own veins,when thou hast thus learned to croak and revile? Why wentest thou not into the forest? Or why didst thou not till theground? Is the sea not full of green islands? I despise thy contempt; and when thou warnedst me- why didst thounot warn thyself? Out of love alone shall my contempt and my warning bird take wing;but not out of the swamp!- They call thee mine ape, thou foaming fool: but I call thee mygrunting-pig,- by thy grunting, thou spoilest even my praise of folly. What was it that first made thee grunt? Because no onesufficiently flattered thee:- therefore didst thou seat thyself besidethis filth, that thou mightest have cause for much grunting,- -That thou mightest have cause for much vengeance! For vengeance,thou vain fool, is all thy foaming; I have divined thee well! But thy fools'-word injureth me, even when thou art right! Andeven if Zarathustra's word were a hundred times justified, thouwouldst ever- do wrong with my word!

Thus spake Zarathustra. Then did he look on the great city andsighed, and was long silent. At last he spake thus: I loathe also this great city, and not only this fool. Here andthere- there is nothing to better, nothing to worsen. Woe to this great city!- And I would that I already saw the pillarof fire in which it will be consumed! For such pillars of fire must precede the great noontide. But thishath its time and its own fate.- This precept, however, give I unto thee, in parting, thou fool:Where one can no longer love, there should one- pass by!-

Thus spake Zarathustra, and passed by the fool and the great city. 52. The Apostates

1.

AH, LIETH everything already withered and grey which but latelystood green and many-hued on this meadow! And how much honey of hopedid I carry hence into my beehives! Those young hearts have already all become old- and not old even!only weary, ordinary, comfortable:- they declare it: "We have againbecome pious." Of late did I see them run forth at early morn with valoroussteps: but the feet of their knowledge became weary, and now do theymalign even their morning valour! Verily, many of them once lifted their legs like the dancer; to themwinked the laughter of my wisdom:- then did they bethink themselves.Just now have I seen them bent down- to creep to the cross. Around light and liberty did they once flutter like gnats andyoung poets. A little older, a little colder: and already are theymystifiers, and mumblers and mollycoddles. Did perhaps their hearts despond, because lonesomeness had swallowedme like a whale? Did their ear perhaps hearken yearningly-long forme in vain, and for my trumpet-notes and herald-calls? -Ah! Ever are there but few of those whose hearts have persistentcourage and exuberance; and in such remaineth also the spirit patient.The rest, however, are cowardly. The rest: these are always the great majority, the common-place, thesuperfluous, the far-too many- those all are cowardly!- Him who is of my type, will also the experiences of my type meeton the way: so that his first companions must be corpses and buffoons. His second companions, however- they will call themselves hisbelievers,- will be a living host, with much love, much folly, muchunbearded veneration. To those believers shall he who is of my type among men not bind hisheart; in those spring-times and many-hued meadows shall he notbelieve, who knoweth the fickly faint-hearted human species! Could they do otherwise, then would they also will otherwise. Thehalf-and-half spoil every whole. That leaves become withered,- what isthere to lament about that! Let them go and fall away, O Zarathustra, and do not lament!Better even to blow amongst them with rustling winds,- -Blow amongst those leaves, O Zarathustra, that everythingwithered may run away from thee the faster!-

2.

"We have again become pious"- so do those apostates confess; andsome of them are still too pusillanimous thus to confess. Unto them I look into the eye,- before them I say it unto their faceand unto the blush on their cheeks: Ye are those who again pray! It is however a shame to pray! Not for all, but for thee, and me,and whoever hath his conscience in his head. For thee it is a shame topray! Thou knowest it well: the faint-hearted devil in thee, which wouldfain fold its arms, and place its hands in its bosom, and take iteasier:- this faint-hearted devil persuadeth thee that "there is aGod!" Thereby, however, dost thou belong to the light-dreading type, towhom light never permitteth repose: now must thou daily thrust thyhead deeper into obscurity and vapour! And verily, thou choosest the hour well: for just now do thenocturnal birds again fly abroad. The hour hath come for alllight-dreading people, the vesper hour and leisure hour, when theydo not- "take leisure." I hear it and smell it: it hath come- their hour for hunt andprocession, not indeed for a wild hunt, but for a tame, lame,snuffling, soft-treaders', soft-prayers' hunt,- -For a hunt after susceptible simpletons: all mouse-traps for theheart have again been set! And whenever I lift a curtain, a night-mothrusheth out of it. Did it perhaps squat there along with another night-moth? Foreverywhere do I smell small concealed communities; and whereverthere are closets there are new devotees therein, and the atmosphereof devotees. They sit for long evenings beside one another, and say: "Let usagain become like little children and say, 'good God!'"- ruined inmouths and stomachs by the pious confectioners. Or they look for long evenings at a crafty, lurking cross-spider,that preacheth prudence to the spiders themselves, and teacheth that"under crosses it is good for cobweb-spinning!" Or they sit all day at swamps with angle-rods, and on that accountthink themselves profound; but whoever fisheth where there are nofish, I do not even call him superficial! Or they learn in godly-gay style to play the harp with ahymn-poet, who would fain harp himself into the heart of young girls:-for he hath tired of old girls and their praises. Or they learn to shudder with a learned semi-madcap, who waitethin darkened rooms for spirits to come to him- and the spirit runnethaway entirely! Or they listen to an old roving howl- and growl-piper, who hathlearned from the sad winds the sadness of sounds; now pipeth he as thewind, and preacheth sadness in sad strains. And some of them have even become night-watchmen: they know nowhow to blow horns, and go about at night and awaken old things whichhave long fallen asleep. Five words about old things did I hear yesternight at thegarden-wall: they came from such old, sorrowful, arid night-watchmen. "For a father he careth not sufficiently for his children: humanfathers do this better!"- "He is too old! He now careth no more for his children,"- answeredthe other night-watchman. "Hath he then children? No one can prove it unless he himselfprove it! I have long wished that he would for once prove itthoroughly." "Prove? As if he had ever proved anything! Proving is difficult tohim; he layeth great stress on one's believing him." "Ay! Ay! Belief saveth him; belief in him. That is the way withold people! So it is with us also!"- -Thus spake to each other the two old night-watchmen andlight-scarers, and tooted thereupon sorrowfully on their horns: so didit happen yesternight at the garden-wall. To me, however, did the heart writhe with laughter, and was liketo break; it knew not where to go, and sunk into the midriff. Verily, it will be my death yet- to choke with laughter when I seeasses drunken, and hear night-watchmen thus doubt about God. Hath the time not long since passed for all such doubts? Who maynowadays awaken such old slumbering, light-shunning things! With the old Deities hath it long since come to an end:- and verily,a good joyful Deity-end had they! They did not "begloom" themselves to death- that do peoplefabricate! On the contrary, they- laughed themselves to death onceon a time! That took place when the ungodliest utterance came from a Godhimself- the utterance: "There is but one God! Thou shalt have noother gods before me!"- -An old grim-beard of a God, a jealous one, forgot himself in suchwise:- And all the gods then laughed, and shook upon their thrones, andexclaimed: "Is it not just divinity that there are gods, but no God?" He that hath an ear let him hear.-

Thus talked Zarathustra in the city he loved, which is surnamed "ThePied Cow." For from here he had but two days to travel to reach oncemore his cave and his animals; his soul, however, rejoiced unceasinglyon account of the nighness of his return home. 53. The Return Home

O LONESOMENESS! My home, lonesomeness! Too long have I livedwildly in wild remoteness, to return to thee without tears! Now threaten me with the finger as mothers threaten; now smileupon me as mothers smile; now say just: "Who was it that like awhirlwind once rushed away from me?- -Who when departing called out: 'Too long have I sat withlonesomeness; there have I unlearned silence!' That hast thoulearned now- surely? O Zarathustra, everything do I know; and that thou wert moreforsaken amongst the many, thou unique one, than thou ever wert withme! One thing is forsakenness, another matter is lonesomeness: that hastthou now learned! And that amongst men thou wilt ever be wild andstrange: -Wild and strange even when they love thee: for above all theywant to be treated indulgently! Here, however, art thou at home and house with thyself; here canstthou utter everything, and unbosom all motives; nothing is hereashamed of concealed, congealed feelings. Here do all things come caressingly to thy talk and flatter thee:for they want to ride upon thy back. On every simile dost thou hereride to every truth. Uprightly and openly mayest thou here talk to all things: andverily, it soundeth as praise in their ears, for one to talk to allthings- directly! Another matter, however, is forsakenness. For, dost thou remember, OZarathustra? When thy bird screamed overhead, when thou stoodest inthe forest, irresolute, ignorant where to go, beside a corpse:- -When thou spakest: 'Let mine animals lead me! More dangerous have Ifound it among men than among animals:'- That was forsakenness! And dost thou remember, O Zarathustra? When thou sattest in thineisle, a well of wine giving and granting amongst empty buckets,bestowing and distributing amongst the thirsty: -Until at last thou alone sattest thirsty amongst the drunkenones, and wailedst nightly: 'Is taking not more blessed than giving?And stealing yet more blessed than taking?'- That was forsakenness! And dost thou remember, O Zarathustra? When thy stillest hour cameand drove thee forth from thyself, when with wicked whispering itsaid: 'Speak and succumb!'- -When it disgusted thee with all thy waiting and silence, anddiscouraged thy humble courage: That was forsakenness!"- O lonesomeness! My home, lonesomeness! How blessedly and tenderlyspeaketh thy voice unto me! We do not question each other, we do not complain to each other;we go together openly through open doors. For all is open with thee and clear; and even the hours run hereon lighter feet. For in the dark, time weigheth heavier upon onethan in the light. Here fly open unto me all beings' words and word-cabinets: hereall being wanteth to become words, here all becoming wanteth tolearn of me how to talk. Down there, however- all talking is in vain! There, forgetting andpassing-by are the best wisdom: that have I learned now! He who would understand everything in man must handle everything.But for that I have too clean hands. I do not like even to inhale their breath; alas! that I have livedso long among their noise and bad breaths! O blessed stillness around me! O pure odours around me! How from adeep breast this stillness fetcheth pure breath! How it hearkeneth,this blessed stillness! But down there- there speaketh everything, there is everythingmisheard. If one announce one's wisdom with bells, the shopmen inthe market-place will out-jingle it with pennies! Everything among them talketh; no one knoweth any longer how tounderstand. Everything falleth into the water; nothing falleth anylonger into deep wells. Everything among them talketh, nothing succeedeth any longer andaccomplisheth itself. Everything cackleth, but who will still sitquietly on the nest and hatch eggs? Everything among them talketh, everything is out-talked. And thatwhich yesterday was still too hard for time itself and its tooth,hangeth today, outchamped and outchewed, from the mouths of the men oftoday. Everything among them talketh, everything is betrayed. And whatwas once called the secret and secrecy of profound souls, belongethto-day to the street-trumpeters and other butterflies. O human hubbub, thou wonderful thing! Thou noise in dark streets!Now art thou again behind me:- my greatest danger lieth behind me! In indulging and pitying lay ever my greatest danger; and allhuman hubbub wisheth to be indulged and tolerated. With suppressed truths, with fool's hand and befooled heart, andrich in petty lies of pity:- thus have I ever lived among men. Disguised did I sit amongst them, ready to misjudge myself that Imight endure them, and willingly saying to myself: "Thou fool, thoudost not know men!" One unlearneth men when one liveth amongst them: there is too muchforeground in all men- what can far-seeing, far-longing eyes do there! And, fool that I was, when they misjudged me, I indulged them onthat account more than myself, being habitually hard on myself, andoften even taking revenge on myself for the indulgence. Stung all over by poisonous flies, and hollowed like the stone bymany drops of wickedness: thus did I sit among them, and still said tomyself: "Innocent is everything petty of its pettiness!" Especially did I find those who call themselves "the good," the mostpoisonous flies; they sting in all innocence, they lie in allinnocence; how could they- be just towards me! He who liveth amongst the good- pity teacheth him to lie. Pitymaketh stifling air for all free souls. For the stupidity of thegood is unfathomable. To conceal myself and my riches- that did I learn down there: forevery one did I still find poor in spirit. It was the lie of mypity, that I knew in every one. -That I saw and scented in every one, what was enough of spiritfor him, and what was too much! Their stiff wise men: I call them wise, not stiff- thus did Ilearn to slur over words. The grave-diggers dig for themselves diseases. Under old rubbishrest bad vapours. One should not stir up the marsh. One should live onmountains. With blessed nostrils do I again breathe mountain-freedom. Freedat last is my nose from the smell of all human hubbub! With sharp breezes tickled, as with sparkling wine, sneezeth mysoul- sneezeth, and shouteth self-congratulatingly: "Health to thee!"

Thus spake Zarathustra. 54. The Three Evil Things

1.

IN MY dream, in my last morning-dream, I stood today on apromontory- beyond the world; I held a pair of scales, and weighed theworld. Alas, that the rosy dawn came too early to me: she glowed meawake, the jealous one! Jealous is she always of the glows of mymorning-dream. Measurable by him who hath time, weighable by a good weigher,attainable by strong pinions, divinable by divine nutcrackers: thusdid my dream find the world:- My dream, a bold sailor, half-ship, half-hurricane, silent as thebutterfly, impatient as the falcon: how had it the patience andleisure to-day for world-weighing! Did my wisdom perhaps speak secretly to it, my laughing,wide-awake day-wisdom, which mocketh at all "infinite worlds"? Forit saith: "Where force is, there becometh number the master: it hathmore force." How confidently did my dream contemplate this finite world, notnew-fangledly, not old-fangledly, not timidly, not entreatingly:- -As if a big round apple presented itself to my hand, a ripegolden apple, with a coolly-soft, velvety skin:- thus did the worldpresent itself unto me:- -As if a tree nodded unto me, a broad-branched, strong-willedtree, curved as a recline and a foot-stool for weary travellers:thus did the world stand on my promontory:- -As if delicate hands carried a casket towards me- a casket open forthe delectation of modest adoring eyes: thus did the world presentitself before me today:- -Not riddle enough to scare human love from it, not solutionenough to put to sleep human wisdom:- a humanly good thing was theworld to me to-day, of which such bad things are said! How I thank my morning-dream that I thus at today's dawn, weighedthe world! As a humanly good thing did it come unto me, this dream andheart-comforter! And that I may do the like by day, and imitate and copy its best,now will I put the three worst things on the scales, and weigh themhumanly well.- He who taught to bless taught also to curse: what are the three bestcursed things in the world? These will I put on the scales. Voluptuousness, passion for power, and selfishness: these threethings have hitherto been best cursed, and have been in worst andfalsest repute- these three things will I weigh humanly well. Well! Here is my promontory, and there is the sea- it rolleth hitherunto me, shaggily and fawningly, the old, faithful, hundred-headeddog-monster that I love!- Well! Here will I hold the scales over the weltering sea: and also awitness do I choose to look on- thee, the anchorite-tree, thee, thestrong-odoured, broad-arched tree that I love!- On what bridge goeth the now to the hereafter? By what constraintdoth the high stoop to the low? And what enjoineth even the higheststill- to grow upwards?- Now stand the scales poised and at rest: three heavy questionshave I thrown in; three heavy answers carrieth the other scale.

2.

Voluptuousness: unto all hair-shirted despisers of the body, a stingand stake; and, cursed as "the world," by all backworldsmen: for itmocketh and befooleth all erring, misinferring teachers. Voluptuousness: to the rabble, the slow fire at which it is burnt;to all wormy wood, to all stinking rags, the prepared heat and stewfurnace. Voluptuousness: to free hearts, a thing innocent and free, thegarden-happiness of the earth, all the future's thanks-overflow to thepresent. Voluptuousness: only to the withered a sweet poison; to thelion-willed, however, the great cordial, and the reverently saved wineof wines. Voluptuousness: the great symbolic happiness of a higher happinessand highest hope. For to many is marriage promised, and more thanmarriage,- -To many that are more unknown to each other than man and woman:-and who hath fully understood how unknown to each other are man andwoman! Voluptuousness:- but I will have hedges around my thoughts, and evenaround my words, lest swine and libertine should break into mygardens!- Passion for power: the glowing scourge of the hardest of theheart-hard; the cruel torture reserved for the cruellest themselves;the gloomy flame of living pyres. Passion for power: the wicked gadfly which is mounted on the vainestpeoples; the scorner of all uncertain virtue; which rideth on everyhorse and on every pride. Passion for power: the earthquake which breaketh and upbreakethall that is rotten and hollow; the rolling, rumbling, punitivedemolisher of whited sepulchres; the flashing interrogative-signbeside premature answers. Passion for power: before whose glance man creepeth and crouchethand drudgeth, and becometh lower than the serpent and the swine:-until at last great contempt crieth out of him-, Passion for power: the terrible teacher of great contempt, whichpreacheth to their face to cities and empires: "Away with thee!"-until a voice crieth out of themselves: "Away with me!" Passion for power: which, however, mounteth alluringly even to thepure and lonesome, and up to self-satisfied elevations, glowing like alove that painteth purple felicities alluringly on earthly heavens. Passion for power: but who would call it passion, when the heightlongeth to stoop for power! Verily, nothing sick or diseased isthere in such longing and descending! That the lonesome height may not forever remain lonesome andself-sufficing; that the mountains may come to the valleys and thewinds of the heights to the plains:- Oh, who could find the right prenomen and honouring name for suchlonging! "Bestowing virtue"- thus did Zarathustra. once name theunnamable. And then it happened also,- and verily, it happened for the firsttime!- that his word blessed selfishness, the wholesome, healthyselfishness, that springeth from the powerful soul:- -From the powerful soul, to which the high body appertaineth, thehandsome, triumphing, refreshing body, around which everythingbecometh a mirror: -The pliant, persuasive body, the dancer, whose symbol and epitomeis the self-enjoying soul. Of such bodies and souls the self-enjoymentcalleth itself "virtue." With its words of good and bad doth such self-enjoyment shelteritself as with sacred groves; with the names of its happiness dothit banish from itself everything contemptible. Away from itself doth it banish everything cowardly; it saith: "Bad-that is cowardly!" Contemptible seem to it the ever-solicitous, thesighing, the complaining, and whoever pick up the most triflingadvantage. It despiseth also all bitter-sweet wisdom: for verily, there is alsowisdom that bloometh in the dark, a night-shade wisdom, which eversigheth: "All is vain!" Shy distrust is regarded by it as base, and every one who wantethoaths instead of looks and hands: also all over-distrustful wisdom,-for such is the mode of cowardly souls. Baser still it regardeth the obsequious, doggish one, whoimmediately lieth on his back, the submissive one; and there is alsowisdom that is submissive, and doggish, and pious, and obsequious. Hateful to it altogether, and a loathing, is he who will neverdefend himself, he who swalloweth down poisonous spittle and badlooks, the all-too-patient one, the all-endurer, the all-satisfiedone: for that is the mode of slaves. Whether they be servile before gods and divine spurnings, orbefore men and stupid human opinions: at all kinds of slaves doth itspit, this blessed selfishness! Bad: thus doth it call all that is spirit-broken, andsordidly-servile- constrained, blinking eyes, depressed hearts, andthe false submissive style, which kisseth with broad cowardly lips. And spurious wisdom: so doth it call all the wit that slaves, andhoary-headed and weary ones affect; and especially all the cunning,spurious-witted, curious-witted foolishness of priests! The spurious wise, however, all the priests, the world-weary, andthose whose souls are of feminine and servile nature- oh, how haththeir game all along abused selfishness! And precisely that was to be virtue and was to be called virtue-to abuse selfishness! And "selfless"- so did they wish themselves withgood reason, all those world-weary cowards and cross-spiders! But to all those cometh now the day, the change, the sword ofjudgment, the great noontide: then shall many things be revealed! And he who proclaimeth the ego wholesome and holy, and selfishnessblessed, verily, he, the prognosticator, speaketh also what heknoweth: "Behold, it cometh, it is night, the great noontide!"

Thus spake Zarathustra. 55. The Spirit of Gravity

1.

MY MOUTHPIECE- is of the people: too coarsely and cordially do Italk for Angora rabbits. And still stranger soundeth my word untoall ink-fish and pen-foxes. My hand- is a fool's hand: woe unto all tables and walls, andwhatever hath room for fool's sketching, fool's scrawling! My foot- is a horse-foot; therewith do I trample and trot over stickand stone, in the fields up and down, and am bedevilled with delightin all fast racing. My stomach- is surely an eagle's stomach? For it preferreth lamb'sflesh. Certainly it is a bird's stomach. Nourished with innocent things, and with few, ready and impatient tofly, to fly away- that is now my nature: why should there not besomething of bird-nature therein! And especially that I am hostile to the spirit of gravity, that isbird-nature:- verily, deadly hostile, supremely hostile, originallyhostile! Oh, whither hath my hostility not flown and misflown! Thereof could I sing a song- - and will sing it: though I be alonein an empty house, and must sing it to mine own ears. Other singers are there, to be sure, to whom only the full housemaketh the voice soft, the hand eloquent, the eye expressive, theheart wakeful:- those do I not resemble.-

2. He who one day teacheth men to fly will have shifted alllandmarks; to him will all landmarks themselves fly into the air;the earth will he christen anew- as "the light body." The ostrich runneth faster than the fastest horse, but it alsothrusteth its head heavily into the heavy earth: thus is it with theman who cannot yet fly. Heavy unto him are earth and life, and so willeth the spirit ofgravity! But he who would become light, and be a bird, must lovehimself:- thus do I teach. Not, to be sure, with the love of the side and infected, for withthem stinketh even self-love! One must learn to love oneself- thus do I teach- with a wholesomeand healthy love: that one may endure to be with oneself, and not goroving about. Such roving about christeneth itself "brotherly love"; with thesewords hath there hitherto been the best lying and dissembling, andespecially by those who have been burdensome to every one. And verily, it is no commandment for today and tomorrow to learnto love oneself. Rather is it of all arts the finest, subtlest, lastand patientest. For to its possessor is all possession well concealed, and of alltreasure-pits one's own is last excavated- so causeth the spirit ofgravity. Almost in the cradle are we apportioned with heavy words and worths:"good" and "evil"- so calleth itself this dowry. For the sake of it weare forgiven for living. And therefore suffereth one little children to come unto one, toforbid them betimes to love themselves- so causeth the spirit ofgravity. And we- we bear loyally what is apportioned unto us, on hardshoulders, over rugged mountains! And when we sweat, then do peoplesay to us: "Yea, life is hard to bear!" But man himself only is hard to bear! The reason thereof is thathe carrieth too many extraneous things on his shoulders. Like thecamel kneeleth he down, and letteth himself be well laden. Especially the strong load-bearing man in whom reverence resideth.Too many extraneous heavy words and worths loadeth he upon himself-then seemeth life to him a desert! And verily! Many a thing also that is our own is hard to bear! Andmany internal things in man are like the oyster- repulsive andslippery and hard to grasp;- So that an elegant shell, with elegant adornment, must plead forthem. But this art also must one learn: to have a shell, and a fineappearance, and sagacious blindness! Again, it deceiveth about many things in man, that many a shell ispoor and pitiable, and too much of a shell. Much concealed goodnessand power is never dreamt of; the choicest dainties find no tasters! Women know that, the choicest of them: a little fatter a littleleaner- oh, how much fate is in so little! Man is difficult to discover, and unto himself most difficult ofall; often lieth the spirit concerning the soul. So causeth the spiritof gravity. He, however, hath discovered himself who saith: This is my goodand evil: therewith hath he silenced the mole and the dwarf, whosay: "Good for all, evil for all." Verily, neither do I like those who call everything good, and thisworld the best of all. Those do I call the all-satisfied. All-satisfiedness, which knoweth how to taste everything,- that isnot the best taste! I honour the refractory, fastidious tongues andstomachs, which have learned to say "I" and "Yea" and "Nay." To chew and digest everything, however- that is the genuineswine-nature! Ever to say YE-A- that hath only the ass learned, andthose like it!- Deep yellow and hot red- so wanteth my taste- it mixeth blood withall colours. He, however, who whitewasheth his house, betrayeth untome a whitewashed soul. With mummies, some fall in love; others with phantoms: both alikehostile to all flesh and blood- oh, how repugnant are both to mytaste! For I love blood. And there will I not reside and abide where every one spitteth andspeweth: that is now my taste,- rather would I live amongst thievesand perjurers. Nobody carrieth gold in his mouth. Still more repugnant unto me, however, are all lick-spittles; andthe most repugnant animal of man that I found, did I christen"parasite": it would not love, and would yet live by love. Unhappy do I call all those who have only one choice: either tobecome evil beasts, or evil beast-tamers. Amongst such would I notbuild my tabernacle. Unhappy do I also call those who have ever to wait,- they arerepugnant to my taste- all the toll-gatherers and traders, andkings, and other landkeepers and shopkeepers. Verily, I learned waiting also, and thoroughly so,- but only waitingfor myself. And above all did I learn standing and walking and runningand leaping and climbing and dancing. This however is my teaching: he who wisheth one day to fly, mustfirst learn standing and walking and running and climbing anddancing:- one doth not fly into flying! With rope-ladders learned I to reach many a window, with nimble legsdid I climb high masts: to sit on high masts of perception seemed tome no small bliss;- -To flicker like small flames on high masts: a small light,certainly, but a great comfort to cast-away sailors and ship-wreckedones! By divers ways and wendings did I arrive at my truth; not by oneladder did I mount to the height where mine eye roveth into myremoteness. And unwillingly only did I ask my way- that was always counter to mytaste! Rather did I question and test the ways themselves. A testing and a questioning hath been all my travelling:- andverily, one must also learn to answer such questioning! That,however,- is my taste: -Neither a good nor a bad taste, but my taste, of which I have nolonger either shame or secrecy. "This- is now my way,- where is yours?" Thus did I answer thosewho asked me "the way." For the way- it doth not exist! Thus spake Zarathustra. 56. Old and New Tables

1.

HERE do I sit and wait, old broken tables around me and also newhalf-written tables. When cometh mine hour? -The hour of my descent, of my down-going: for once more will I gounto men. For that hour do I now wait: for first must the signs come unto methat it is mine hour- namely, the laughing lion with the flock ofdoves. Meanwhile do I talk to myself as one who hath time. No one tellethme anything new, so I tell myself mine own story.

2.

When I came unto men, then found I them resting on an oldinfatuation: all of them thought they had long known what was good andbad for men. An old wearisome business seemed to them all discourse about virtue;and he who wished to sleep well spake of "good" and "bad" ere retiringto rest. This somnolence did I disturb when I taught that no one yetknoweth what is good and bad:- unless it be the creating one! -It is he, however, who createth man's goal, and giveth to the earthits meaning and its future: he only effecteth it that aught is good orbad. And I bade them upset their old academic chairs, and wherever thatold infatuation had sat; I bade them laugh at their great moralists,their saints, their poets, and their saviours. At their gloomy sages did I bid them laugh, and whoever had satadmonishing as a black scarecrow on the tree of life. On their great grave-highway did I seat myself, and even besidethe carrion and vultures- and I laughed at all their bygone and itsmellow decaying glory. Verily, like penitential preachers and fools did I cry wrath andshame on all their greatness and smallness. Oh, that their best isso very small! Oh, that their worst is so very small! Thus did Ilaugh. Thus did my wise longing, born in the mountains, cry and laugh inme; a wild wisdom, verily!- my great pinion-rustling longing. And oft did it carry me off and up and away and in the midst oflaughter; then flew I quivering like an arrow with sun-intoxicatedrapture: -Out into distant futures, which no dream hath yet seen, into warmersouths than ever sculptor conceived,- where gods in their dancingare ashamed of all clothes: (That I may speak in parables and halt and stammer like the poets:and verily I am ashamed that I have still to be a poet!) Where all becoming seemed to me dancing of gods, and wantoning ofgods, and the world unloosed and unbridled and fleeing back toitself:- -As an eternal self-fleeing and re-seeking of one another of manygods, as the blessed self-contradicting, recommuning, andrefraternising with one another of many gods:- Where all time seemed to me a blessed mockery of moments, wherenecessity was freedom itself, which played happily with the goad offreedom:- Where I also found again mine old devil and arch-enemy, the spiritof gravity, and all that it created: constraint, law, necessity andconsequence and purpose and will and good and evil:- For must there not be that which is danced over, danced beyond? Mustthere not, for the sake of the nimble, the nimblest,- be moles andclumsy dwarfs?-

3.

There was it also where I picked up from the path the word"Superman," and that man is something that must be surpassed. -That man is a bridge and not a goal- rejoicing over his noontidesand evenings, as advances to new rosy dawns: -The Zarathustra word of the great noontide, and whatever else Ihave hung up over men like purple evening-afterglows. Verily, also new stars did I make them see, along with new nights;and over cloud and day and night, did I spread out laughter like agay-coloured canopy. I taught them all my poetisation and aspiration: to compose andcollect into unity what is fragment in man, and riddle and fearfulchance;- -As composer, riddle-reader, and redeemer of chance, did I teachthem to create the future, and all that hath been- to redeem bycreating. The past of man to redeem, and every "It was" to transform, untilthe Will saith: "But so did I will it! So shall I will it-" -This did I call redemption; this alone taught I them to callredemption.- - Now do I await my redemption- that I may go unto them for the lasttime. For once more will I go unto men: amongst them will my sun set; indying will I give them my choicest gift! From the sun did I learn this, when it goeth down, the exuberantone: gold doth it then pour into the sea, out of inexhaustibleriches,- -So that the poorest fisherman roweth even with golden oars! Forthis did I once see, and did not tire of weeping in beholding it.- - Like the sun will also Zarathustra go down: now sitteth he hereand waiteth, old broken tables around him, and also new tables-half-written.

4.

Behold, here is a new table; but where are my brethren who willcarry it with me to the valley and into hearts of flesh?- Thus demandeth my great love to the remotest ones: be notconsiderate of thy neighbour! Man is something that must be surpassed. There are many divers ways and modes of surpassing: see thouthereto! But only a buffoon thinketh: "man can also be overleapt." Surpass thyself even in thy neighbour: and a right which thoucanst seize upon, shalt thou not allow to be given thee! What thou doest can no one do to thee again. Lo, there is norequital. He who cannot command himself shall obey. And many a one can commandhimself, but still sorely lacketh self-obedience!

5.

Thus wisheth the type of noble souls: they desire to have nothinggratuitously, least of all, life. He who is of the populace wisheth to live gratuitously; we others,however, to whom life hath given itself- we are ever consideringwhat we can best give in return! And verily, it is a noble dictum which saith: "What life promisethus, that promise will we keep- to life!" One should not wish to enjoy where one doth not contribute to theenjoyment. And one should not wish to enjoy! For enjoyment and innocence are the most bashful things. Neitherlike to be sought for. One should have them,- but one should ratherseek for guilt and pain!-

6.

O my brethren, he who is a firstling is ever sacrificed. Now,however, are we firstlings! We all bleed on secret sacrificial altars, we all burn and broilin honour of ancient idols. Our best is still young: this exciteth old palates. Our flesh istender, our skin is only lambs' skin:- how could we not excite oldidol-priests! In ourselves dwelleth he still, the old idol-priest, who broilethour best for his banquet. Ah, my brethren, how could firstlings failto be sacrifices! But so wisheth our type; and I love those who do not wish topreserve themselves, the down-going ones do I love with mine entirelove: for they go beyond.-

7.

To be true- that can few be! And he who can, will not! Least of all,however, can the good be true. Oh, those good ones! Good men never speak the truth. For the spirit,thus to be good, is a malady. They yield, those good ones, they submit themselves; their heartrepeateth, their soul obeyeth: he, however, who obeyeth, doth notlisten to himself! All that is called evil by the good, must come together in orderthat one truth may be born. O my brethren, are ye also evil enough forthis truth? The daring venture, the prolonged distrust, the cruel Nay, thetedium, the cutting-into-the-quick- how seldom do these come together!Out of such seed, however- is truth produced! Beside the bad conscience hath hitherto grown all knowledge! Breakup, break up, ye discerning ones, the old tables!

8.

When the water hath planks, when gangways and railings o'erspanthe stream, verily, he is not believed who then saith: "All is influx." But even the simpletons contradict him. "What?" say thesimpletons, "all in flux? Planks and railings are still over thestream! "Over the stream all is stable, all the values of things, thebridges and bearings, all 'good' and 'evil': these are all stable!"- Cometh, however, the hard winter, the stream-tamer, then learneven the wittiest distrust, and verily, not only the simpletons thensay: "Should not everything- stand still?" "Fundamentally standeth everything still"- that is an appropriatewinter doctrine, good cheer for an unproductive period, a greatcomfort for winter-sleepers and fireside-loungers. "Fundamentally standeth everything still"-: but contrary thereto,preacheth the thawing wind! The thawing wind, a bullock, which is no ploughing bullock- afurious bullock, a destroyer, which with angry horns breaketh the ice!The ice however- - breaketh gangways! O my brethren, is not everything at present in flux? Have not allrailings and gangways fallen into the water? Who would still hold onto "good" and "evil"? "Woe to us! Hail to us! The thawing wind bloweth!"- Thus preach,my brethren, through all the streets!

9.

There is an old illusion- it is called good and evil. Aroundsoothsayers and astrologers hath hitherto revolved the orbit of thisillusion. Once did one believe in soothsayers and astrologers; and thereforedid one believe, "Everything is fate: thou shalt, for thou must!" Then again did one distrust all soothsayers and astrologers; andtherefore did one believe, "Everything is freedom: thou canst, forthou willest!" O my brethren, concerning the stars and the future there hathhitherto been only illusion, and not knowledge; and thereforeconcerning good and evil there hath hitherto been only illusion andnot knowledge!

10.

"Thou shalt not rob! Thou shalt not slay!"- such precepts wereonce called holy; before them did one bow the knee and the head, andtake off one's shoes. But I ask you: Where have there ever been better robbers and slayersin the world than such holy precepts? Is there not even in all life- robbing and slaying? And for suchprecepts to be called holy, was not truth itself thereby- slain? -Or was it a sermon of death that called holy what contradictedand dissuaded from life?- O my brethren, break up, break up for me theold tables!

11.

It is my sympathy with all the past that I see it is abandoned,- -Abandoned to the favour, the spirit and the madness of everygeneration that cometh, and reinterpreteth all that hath been as itsbridge! A great potentate might arise, an artful prodigy, who withapproval and disapproval could strain and constrain all the past,until it became for him a bridge, a harbinger, a herald, and acock-crowing. This however is the other danger, and mine other sympathy:- he whois of the populace, his thoughts go back to his grandfather,- with hisgrandfather, however, doth time cease. Thus is all the past abandoned: for it might some day happen for thepopulace to become master, and drown all time in shallow waters. Therefore, O my brethren, a new nobility is needed, which shall bethe adversary of all populace and potentate rule, and shall inscribeanew the word "noble" on new tables. For many noble ones are needed, and many kinds of noble ones, fora new nobility! Or, as I once said in parable: "That is just divinity,that there are gods, but no God!"

12.

O my brethren, I consecrate you and point you to a new nobility:ye shall become procreators and cultivators and sowers of the future;- -Verily, not to a nobility which ye could purchase like traders withtraders' gold; for little worth is all that hath its price. Let it not be your honour henceforth whence ye come, but whitherye go! Your Will and your feet which seek to surpass you- let these beyour new honour! Verily, not that ye have served a prince- of what account areprinces now!- nor that ye have become a bulwark to that whichstandeth, that it may stand more firmly. Not that your family have become courtly at courts, and that ye havelearned- gay-coloured, like the flamingo- to stand long hours inshallow pools: (For ability-to-stand is a merit in courtiers; and all courtiersbelieve that unto blessedness after death pertaineth-permission-to-sit!) Nor even that a Spirit called Holy, led your forefathers intopromised lands, which I do not praise: for where the worst of alltrees grew- the cross,- in that land there is nothing to praise!- -And verily, wherever this "Holy Spirit" led its knights, alwaysin such campaigns did- goats and geese, and wry-heads and guy-headsrun foremost!- O my brethren, not backward shall your nobility gaze, but outward!Exiles shall ye be from all fatherlands and forefather-lands! Your children's land shall ye love: let this love be your newnobility,- the undiscovered in the remotest seas! For it do I bid yoursails search and search! Unto your children shall ye make amends for being the children ofyour fathers: all the past shall ye thus redeem! This new table do Iplace over you!

13.

"Why should one live? All is vain! To live- that is to thresh straw;to live- that is to burn oneself and yet not get warm.- Such ancient babbling still passeth for "wisdom"; because it is old,however, and smelleth mustily, therefore is it the more honoured. Evenmould ennobleth.- Children might thus speak: they shun the fire because it hathburnt them! There is much childishness in the old books of wisdom. And he who ever "thresheth straw," why should he be allowed torail at threshing! Such a fool one would have to muzzle! Such persons sit down to the table and bring nothing with them,not even good hunger:- and then do they rail: "All is vain!" But to eat and drink well, my brethren, is verily no vain art! Breakup, break up for me the tables of the never-joyous ones!

14.

"To the clean are all things clean"- thus say the people. I,however, say unto you: To the swine all things become swinish! Therefore preach the visionaries and bowed-heads (whose hearts arealso bowed down): "The world itself is a filthy monster." For these are all unclean spirits; especially those, however, whohave no peace or rest, unless they see the world from the backside-the backworldsmen! To those do I say it to the face, although it sound unpleasantly:the world resembleth man, in that it hath a backside,- so much istrue! There is in the world much filth: so much is true! But the worlditself is not therefore a filthy monster! There is wisdom in the fact that much in the world smelleth badly:loathing itself createth wings, and fountain-divining powers! In the best there is still something to loathe; and the best isstill something that must be surpassed!- O my brethren, there is much wisdom in the fact that much filth isin the world!-

15.

Such sayings did I hear pious backworldsmen speak to theirconsciences, and verily without wickedness or guile,- although thereis nothing more guileful in the world, or more wicked. "Let the world be as it is! Raise not a finger against it!" "Let whoever will choke and stab and skin and scrape the people:raise not a finger against it! Thereby will they learn to renounce theworld." "And thine own reason- this shalt thou thyself stifle and choke; forit is a reason of this world,- thereby wilt thou learn thyself torenounce the world."- -Shatter, shatter, O my brethren, those old tables of the pious!Tatter the maxims of the world-maligners!-

16.

"He who learneth much unlearneth all violent cravings"- that dopeople now whisper to one another in all the dark lanes. "Wisdom wearieth, nothing is worth while; thou shalt not crave!"-this new table found I hanging even in the public markets. Break up for me, O my brethren, break up also that new table! Theweary-o'-the-world put it up, and the preachers of death and thejailer: for lo, it is also a sermon for slavery:- Because they learned badly and not the best, and everything tooearly and everything too fast; because they ate badly: from thencehath resulted their ruined stomach;- -For a ruined stomach, is their spirit: it persuadeth to death!For verily, my brethren, the spirit is a stomach! Life is a well of delight, but to him in whom the ruined stomachspeaketh, the father of affliction, all fountains are poisoned. To discern: that is delight to the lion-willed! But he who hathbecome weary, is himself merely "willed"; with him play all the waves. And such is always the nature of weak men: they lose themselves ontheir way. And at last asketh their weariness: "Why did we ever goon the way? All is indifferent!" To them soundeth it pleasant to have preached in their ears:"Nothing is worth while! Ye shall not will!" That, however, is asermon for slavery. O my brethren, a fresh blustering wind cometh Zarathustra unto allway-weary ones; many noses will he yet make sneeze! Even through walls bloweth my free breath, and into prisons andimprisoned spirits! Willing emancipateth: for willing is creating: so do I teach. Andonly for creating shall ye learn! And also the learning shall ye learn only from me, the learningwell!- He who hath ears let him hear!

17.

There standeth the boat- thither goeth it over, perhaps into vastnothingness- but who willeth to enter into this "Perhaps"? None of you want to enter into the death-boat! How should ye then beworld-weary ones! World-weary ones! And have not even withdrawn from the earth!Eager did I ever find you for the earth, amorous still of your ownearth-weariness! Not in vain doth your lip hang down:- a small worldly wish stillsitteth thereon! And in your eye- floateth there not a cloudlet ofunforgotten earthly bliss? There are on the earth many good inventions, some useful, somepleasant: for their sake is the earth to be loved. And many such good inventions are there, that they are likewoman's breasts: useful at the same time, and pleasant. Ye world-weary ones, however! Ye earth-idlers! You, shall one beatwith stripes! With stripes shall one again make you sprightly limbs. For if ye be not invalids, or decrepit creatures, of whom theearth is weary, then are ye sly sloths, or dainty, sneakingpleasure-cats. And if ye will not again run gaily, then shall ye- passaway! To the incurable shall one not seek to be a physician: thus teachethZarathustra:- so shall ye pass away! But more courage is needed to make an end than to make a newverse: that do all physicians and poets know well.-

18.

O my brethren, there are tables which weariness framed, and tableswhich slothfulness framed, corrupt slothfulness: although they speaksimilarly, they want to be heard differently.- See this languishing one! Only a span-breadth is he from his goal;but from weariness hath he lain down obstinately in the dust, thisbrave one! From weariness yawneth he at the path, at the earth, at the goal,and at himself: not a step further will he go,- this brave one! Now gloweth the sun upon him, and the dogs lick at his sweat: but helieth there in his obstinacy and preferreth to languish:- -A span-breadth from his goal, to languish! Verily, ye will haveto drag him into his heaven by the hair of his head- this hero! Better still that ye let him lie where he hath lain down, that sleepmay come unto him, the comforter, with cooling patter-rain. Let him lie, until of his own accord he awakeneth,- until of his ownaccord he repudiateth all weariness, and what weariness hath taughtthrough him! Only, my brethren, see that ye scare the dogs away from him, theidle skulkers, and all the swarming vermin:- -All the swarming vermin of the "cultured," that- feast on the sweatof every hero!-

19.

I form circles around me and holy boundaries; ever fewer ascend withme ever higher mountains: I build a mountain-range out of everholier mountains.- But wherever ye would ascend with me, O my brethren, take carelest a parasite ascend with you! A parasite: that is a reptile, a creeping, cringing reptile, thattrieth to fatten on your infirm and sore places. And this is its art: it divineth where ascending souls are weary, inyour trouble and dejection, in your sensitive modesty, doth it buildits loathsome nest. Where the strong are weak, where the noble are all-too-gentle- therebuildeth it its loathsome nest; the parasite liveth where the greathave small sore-places. What is the highest of all species of being, and what is the lowest?The parasite is the lowest species; he, however, who is of the highestspecies feedeth most parasites. For the soul which hath the longest ladder, and can go deepest down:how could there fail to be most parasites upon it?- -The most comprehensive soul, which can run and stray and rovefurthest in itself; the most necessary soul, which out of joy flingethitself into chance:- -The soul in Being, which plungeth into Becoming; the possessingsoul, which seeketh to attain desire and longing:- -The soul fleeing from itself, which overtaketh itself in the widestcircuit; the wisest soul, unto which folly speaketh most sweetly:- -The soul most self-loving, in which all things have their currentand counter-current, their ebb and their flow:- oh, how could theloftiest soul fail to have the worst parasites?

20.

O my brethren, am I then cruel? But I say: What falleth, thatshall one also push! Everything of today- it falleth, it decayeth; who would preserve it!But I- I wish also to push it! Know ye the delight which rolleth stones into precipitous depths?-Those men of today, see just how they roll into my depths! A prelude am I to better players, O my brethren! An example! Doaccording to mine example! And him whom ye do not teach to fly, teach I pray you- to fallfaster!-

21.

I love the brave: but it is not enough to be a swordsman,- onemust also know whereon to use swordsmanship! And often is it greater bravery to keep quiet and pass by, thatthereby one may reserve oneself for a worthier foe! Ye shall only have foes to be hated; but not foes to be despised: yemust be proud of your foes. Thus have I already taught. For the worthier foe, O my brethren, shall ye reserve yourselves:therefore must ye pass by many a one,- -Especially many of the rabble, who din your ears with noise aboutpeople and peoples. Keep your eye clear of their For and Against! There is there muchright, much wrong: he who looketh on becometh wroth. Therein viewing, therein hewing- they are the same thing:therefore depart into the forests and lay your sword to sleep! Go your ways! and let the people and peoples go theirs!- gloomyways, verily, on which not a single hope glinteth any more! Let there the trader rule, where all that still glittereth is-traders' gold. It is the time of kings no longer: that which nowcalleth itself the people is unworthy of kings. See how these peoples themselves now do just like the traders:they pick up the smallest advantage out of all kinds of rubbish! They lay lures for one another, they lure things out of oneanother,- that they call "good neighbourliness." O blessed remoteperiod when a people said to itself: "I will be- master over peoples!" For, my brethren, the best shall rule, the best also willeth torule! And where the teaching is different, there- the best is lacking.

22.

If they had- bread for nothing, alas! for what would they cry! Theirmaintainment- that is their true entertainment; and they shall have ithard! Beasts of prey, are they: in their "working"- there is evenplundering, in their "earning"- there is even over-reaching! Thereforeshall they have it hard! Better beasts of prey shall they thus become, subtler, cleverer,more man-like: for man is the best beast of prey. All the animals hath man already robbed of their virtues: that iswhy of all animals it hath been hardest for man. Only the birds are still beyond him. And if man should yet learnto fly, alas! to what height- would his rapacity fly!

23.

Thus would I have man and woman: fit for war, the one; fit formaternity, the other; both, however, fit for dancing with head andlegs. And lost be the day to us in which a measure hath not been danced.And false be every truth which hath not had laughter along with it!

24.

Your marriage-arranging: see that it be not a bad arranging! Ye havearranged too hastily: so there followeth therefrom- marriage-breaking! And better marriage-breaking than marriage-bending, marriage-lying!-Thus spake a woman unto me: "Indeed, I broke the marriage, but firstdid the marriage break- me! The badly paired found I ever the most revengeful: they make everyone suffer for it that they no longer run singly. On that account want I the honest ones to say to one another: "Welove each other: let us see to it that we maintain our love! Orshall our pledging be blundering?" -"Give us a set term and a small marriage, that we may see if we arefit for the great marriage! It is a great matter always to be twain." Thus do I counsel all honest ones; and what would be my love tothe Superman, and to all that is to come, if I should counsel andspeak otherwise! Not only to propagate yourselves onwards but upwards- thereto, Omy brethren, may the garden of marriage help you!

25.

He who hath grown wise concerning old origins, lo, he will at lastseek after the fountains of the future and new origins.- O my brethren, not long will it be until new peoples shall arise andnew fountains shall rush down into new depths. For the earthquake- it choketh up many wells, it causeth muchlanguishing: but it bringeth also to light inner powers and secrets. The earthquake discloseth new fountains. In the earthquake of oldpeoples new fountains burst forth. And whoever calleth out: "Lo, here is a well for many thirstyones, one heart for many longing ones, one will for manyinstruments":- around him collecteth a people, that is to say, manyattempting ones. Who can command, who must obey- that is there attempted! Ah, withwhat long seeking and solving and failing and learning andre-attempting! Human society: it is an attempt- so I teach- a long seeking: itseeketh however the ruler!- -An attempt, my brethren! And no "contract"! Destroy, I pray you,destroy that word of the soft-hearted and half-and-half!

26.

O my brethren! With whom lieth the greatest danger to the wholehuman future? Is it not with the good and just?- -As those who say and feel in their hearts: "We already know what isgood and just, we possess it also; woe to those who still seekthereafter! And whatever harm the wicked may do, the harm of the good is theharmfulest harm! And whatever harm the world-maligners may do, the harm of the goodis the harmfulest harm! O my brethren, into the hearts of the good and just looked someone once on a time, who said: "They are the Pharisees." But people didnot understand him. The good and just themselves were not free to understand him;their spirit was imprisoned in their good conscience. The stupidity ofthe good is unfathomably wise. It is the truth, however, that the good must be Pharisees- they haveno choice! The good must crucify him who deviseth his own virtue! That is thetruth! The second one, however, who discovered their country- thecountry, heart and soil of the good and just,- it was he who asked:"Whom do they hate most?" The creator, hate they most, him who breaketh the tables and oldvalues, the breaker,- him they call the law-breaker. For the good- they cannot create; they are always the beginning ofthe end:- -They crucify him who writeth new values on new tables, theysacrifice unto themselves the future- they crucify the whole humanfuture! The good- they have always been the beginning of the end.-

27.

O my brethren, have ye also understood this word? And what I oncesaid of the "last man"?- - With whom lieth the greatest danger to the whole human future? Is itnot with the good and just? Break up, break up, I pray you, the good and just!- O my brethren,have ye understood also this word?

28.

Ye flee from me? Ye are frightened? Ye tremble at this word? O my brethren, when I enjoined you to break up the good, and thetables of the good, then only did I embark man on his high seas. And now only cometh unto him the great terror, the great outlook,the great sickness, the great nausea, the great seasickness. False shores and false securities did the good teach you; in thelies of the good were ye born and bred. Everything hath been radicallycontorted and distorted by the good. But he who discovered the country of "man," discovered also thecountry of "man's future." Now shall ye be sailors for me, brave,patient! Keep yourselves up betimes, my brethren, learn to keep yourselvesup! The sea stormeth: many seek to raise themselves again by you. The sea stormeth: all is in the sea. Well! Cheer up! Ye oldseaman-hearts! What of fatherland! Thither striveth our helm where our children'sland is! Thitherwards, stormier than the sea, stormeth our greatlonging!-

29.

"Why so hard!"- said to the diamond one day the charcoal; "are wethen not near relatives?"- Why so soft? O my brethren; thus do I ask you: are ye then not- mybrethren? Why so soft, so submissive and yielding? Why is there so muchnegation and abnegation in your hearts? Why is there so little fate inyour looks? And if ye will not be fates and inexorable ones, how can ye one day-conquer with me? And if your hardness will not glance and cut and chip to pieces, howcan ye one day- create with me? For the creators are hard. And blessedness must it seem to you topress your hand upon millenniums as upon wax,- -Blessedness to write upon the will of millenniums as upon brass,-harder than brass, nobler than brass. Entirely hard is only thenoblest. This new table, O my brethren, put I up over you: Become hard!-

30.

O thou, my Will! Thou change of every need, my needfulness! Preserveme from all small victories! Thou fatedness of my soul, which I call fate! Thou In-me! Over-me!Preserve and spare me for one great fate! And thy last greatness, my Will, spare it for thy last- that thoumayest be inexorable in thy victory! Ah, who hath not succumbed to hisvictory! Ah, whose eye hath not bedimmed in this intoxicated twilight! Ah,whose foot hath not faltered and forgotten in victory- how to stand!- -That I may one day be ready and ripe in the great noon-tide:ready and ripe like the glowing ore, the lightning-bearing cloud,and the swelling milk-udder:- -Ready for myself and for my most hidden Will: a bow eager for itsarrow, an arrow eager for its star:- -A star, ready and ripe in its noontide, glowing, pierced,blessed, by annihilating sun-arrows:- -A sun itself, and an inexorable sun-will, ready for annihilation invictory! O Will, thou change of every need, my needfulness! Spare me forone great victory!- -

Thus spake Zarathustra. 57. The Convalescent

1.

ONE morning, not long after his return to his cave, Zarathustrasprang up from his couch like a madman, crying with a frightful voice,and acting as if some one still lay on the couch who did not wish torise. Zarathustra's voice also resounded in such a manner that hisanimals came to him frightened, and out of all the neighbouringcaves and lurking-places all the creatures slipped away- flying,fluttering, creeping or leaping, according to their variety of foot orwing. Zarathustra, however, spake these words:

Up, abysmal thought out of my depth! I am thy cock and morning dawn,thou overslept reptile: Up! Up! My voice shall soon crow thee awake! Unbind the fetters of thine ears: listen! For I wish to hear thee!Up! Up! There is thunder enough to make the very graves listen! And rub the sleep and all the dimness and blindness out of thineeyes! Hear me also with thine eyes: my voice is a medicine even forthose born blind. And once thou art awake, then shalt thou ever remain awake. It isnot my custom to awake great-grandmothers out of their sleep that Imay bid them- sleep on! Thou stirrest, stretchest thyself, wheezest? Up! Up! Not wheeze,shalt thou,- but speak unto me! Zarathustra calleth thee,Zarathustra the godless! I, Zarathustra, the advocate of living, the advocate of suffering,the advocate of the circuit- thee do I call, my most abysmal thought! Joy to me! Thou comest,- I hear thee! Mine abyss speaketh, my lowestdepth have I turned over into the light! Joy to me! Come hither! Give me thy hand- - ha! let be! aha!- -Disgust, disgust, disgust- - - alas to me!

2.

Hardly, however, had Zarathustra spoken these words, when he felldown as one dead, and remained long as one dead. When however he againcame to himself, then was he pale and trembling, and remained lying;and for long he would neither eat nor drink. This conditioncontinued for seven days; his animals, however, did not leave himday nor night, except that the eagle flew forth to fetch food. Andwhat it fetched and foraged, it laid on Zarathustra's couch: so thatZarathustra at last lay among yellow and red berries, grapes, rosyapples, sweet-smelling herbage, and pine-cones. At his feet,however, two lambs were stretched, which the eagle had with difficultycarried off from their shepherds. At last, after seven days, Zarathustra raised himself upon hiscouch, took a rosy apple in his hand, smelt it and found its smellpleasant. Then did his animals think the time had come to speak untohim.

"O Zarathustra," said they, "now hast thou lain thus for sevendays with heavy eyes: wilt thou not set thyself again upon thy feet? Step out of thy cave: the world waiteth for thee as a garden. Thewind playeth with heavy fragrance which seeketh for thee; and allbrooks would like to run after thee. All things long for thee, since thou hast remained alone for sevendays- step forth out of thy cave! All things want to be thyphysicians! Did perhaps a new knowledge come to thee, a bitter, grievousknowledge? Like leavened dough layest thou, thy soul arose and swelledbeyond all its bounds.-" -O mine animals, answered Zarathustra, talk on thus and let melisten! It refresheth me so to hear your talk: where there is talk,there is the world as a garden unto me. How charming it is that there are words and tones; are not words andtones rainbows and seeming bridges 'twixt the eternally separated? To each soul belongeth another world; to each soul is every othersoul a back-world. Among the most alike doth semblance deceive most delightfully: forthe smallest gap is most difficult to bridge over. For me- how could there be an outside-of-me? There is no outside!But this we forget on hearing tones; how delightful it is that weforget! Have not names and tones been given unto things that man may refreshhimself with them? It is a beautiful folly, speaking; therewithdanceth man over everything. How lovely is all speech and all falsehoods of tones! With tonesdanceth our love on variegated rainbows.- -"O Zarathustra," said then his animals, "to those who think likeus, things all dance themselves: they come and hold out the hand andlaugh and flee- and return. Everything goeth, everything returneth; eternally rolleth thewheel of existence. Everything dieth, everything blossometh forthagain; eternally runneth on the year of existence. Everything breaketh, everything is integrated anew; eternallybuildeth itself the same house of existence. All things separate,all things again greet one another; eternally true to itself remaineththe ring of existence. Every moment beginneth existence, around every 'Here' rolleth theball 'There.' The middle is everywhere. Crooked is the path ofeternity."- -O ye wags and barrel-organs! answered Zarathustra, and smiledonce more, how well do ye know what had to be fulfilled in sevendays:- -And how that monster crept into my throat and choked me! But Ibit off its head and spat it away from me. And ye- ye have made a lyre-lay out of it? Now, however, do I liehere, still exhausted with that biting and spitting-away, still sickwith mine own salvation. And ye looked on at it all? O mine animals, are ye also cruel? Didye like to look at my great pain as men do? For man is the cruellestanimal. At tragedies, bull-fights, and crucifixions hath he hitherto beenhappiest on earth; and when he invented his hell, behold, that was hisheaven on earth. When the great man crieth-: immediately runneth the little manthither, and his tongue hangeth out of his mouth for very lusting. He,however, calleth it his "pity." The little man, especially the poet- how passionately doth he accuselife in words! Hearken to him, but do not fail to hear the delightwhich is in all accusation! Such accusers of life- them life overcometh with a glance of theeye. "Thou lovest me?" saith the insolent one; "wait a little, asyet have I no time for thee." Towards himself man is the cruellest animal; and in all who callthemselves "sinners" and "bearers of the cross" and "penitents," donot overlook the voluptuousness in their plaints and accusations! And I myself- do, I thereby want to be man's accuser? Ah, mineanimals, this only have I learned hitherto, that for man his baddestis necessary for his best,- -That all that is baddest is the best power, and the hardest stonefor the highest creator; and that man must become better and badder:- Not to this torture-stake was I tied, that I know man is bad,- but Icried, as no one hath yet cried: "Ah, that his baddest is so very small! Ah, that his best is so verysmall!" The great disgust at man- it strangled me and had crept into mythroat: and what the soothsayer had presaged: "All is alike, nothingis worth while, knowledge strangleth." A long twilight limped on before me, a fatally weary, fatallyintoxicated sadness, which spake with yawning mouth. "Eternally he returneth, the man of whom thou art weary, the smallman"- so yawned my sadness, and dragged its foot and could not go tosleep. A cavern, became the human earth to me; its breast caved in;everything living became to me human dust and bones and moulderingpast. My sighing sat on all human graves, and could no longer arise: mysighing and questioning croaked and choked, and gnawed and naggedday and night: -"Ah, man returneth eternally! The small man returneth eternally!" Naked had I once seen both of them, the greatest man and thesmallest man: all too like one another- all too human, even thegreatest man! All too small, even the greatest man!- that was my disgust at man!And the eternal return also of the smallest man!- that was mydisgust at all existence! Ah, Disgust! Disgust! Disgust!- - Thus spake Zarathustra, and sighedand shuddered; for he remembered his sickness. Then did his animalsprevent him from speaking further. "Do not speak further, thou convalescent!"- so answered his animals,"but go out where the world waiteth for thee like a garden. Go out unto the roses, the bees, and the flocks of doves!Especially, however, unto the singing-birds, to learn singing fromthem! For singing is for the convalescent; the sound ones may talk. Andwhen the sound also want songs, then want they other songs than theconvalescent."

-"O ye wags and barrel-organs, do be silent!" answeredZarathustra, and smiled at his animals. "How well ye know whatconsolation I devised for myself in seven days! That I have to sing once more- that consolation did I devise formyself, and this convalescence: would ye also make another lyre-laythereof?" -"Do not talk further," answered his animals once more; "rather,thou convalescent, prepare for thyself first a lyre, a new lyre! For behold, O Zarathustra! For thy new lays there are needed newlyres. Sing and bubble over, O Zarathustra, heal thy soul with new lays:that thou mayest bear thy great fate, which hath not yet been anyone's fate! For thine animals know it well, O Zarathustra, who thou art and mustbecome: behold, thou art the teacher of the eternal return,- that isnow thy fate! That thou must be the first to teach this teaching- how could thisgreat fate not be thy greatest danger and infirmity! Behold, we know what thou teachest: that all things eternallyreturn, and ourselves with them, and that we have already existedtimes without number, and all things with us. Thou teachest that there is a great year of Becoming, a prodigy of agreat year; it must, like a sand-glass, ever turn up anew, that it mayanew run down and run out:- -So that all those years are like one another in the greatest andalso in the smallest, so that we ourselves, in every great year, arelike ourselves in the greatest and also in the smallest. And if thou wouldst now die, O Zarathustra, behold, we know also howthou wouldst then speak to thyself:- but thine animals beseech theenot to die yet! Thou wouldst speak, and without trembling, buoyant rather withbliss, for a great weight and worry would be taken from thee, thoupatientest one!- 'Now do I die and disappear,' wouldst thou say, 'and in a moment Iam nothing. Souls are as mortal as bodies. But the plexus of causes returneth in which I am intertwined,- itwill again create me! I myself pertain to the causes of the eternalreturn. I come again with this sun, with this earth, with this eagle, withthis serpent- not to a new life, or a better life, or a similar life: -I come again eternally to this identical and selfsame life, inits greatest and its smallest, to teach again the eternal return ofall things,- -To speak again the word of the great noontide of earth and man,to announce again to man the Superman. I have spoken my word. I break down by my word: so willeth mineeternal fate- as announcer do I succumb! The hour hath now come for the down-goer to bless himself. Thus-endeth Zarathustra's down-going.'"- -

When the animals had spoken these words they were silent and waited,so that Zarathustra might say something to them; but Zarathustra didnot hear that they were silent. On the contrary, he lay quietly withclosed eyes like a person sleeping, although he did not sleep; forhe communed just then with his soul. The serpent, however, and theeagle, when they found him silent in such wise, respected the greatstillness around him, and prudently retired. 58. The Great Longing

O MY soul, I have taught thee to say "today" as "once on a time" and"formerly," and to dance thy measure over every Here and There andYonder. O my soul, I delivered thee from all by-places, I brushed downfrom thee dust and spiders and twilight. O my soul, I washed the petty shame and the by-place virtue fromthee, and persuaded thee to stand naked before the eyes of the sun. With the storm that is called "spirit" did I blow over thy surgingsea; all clouds did I blow away from it; I strangled even thestrangler called "sin." O my soul, I gave thee the right to say Nay like the storm, and tosay Yea as the open heaven saith Yea: calm as the light remainestthou, and now walkest through denying storms. O my soul, I restored to thee liberty over the created and theuncreated; and who knoweth, as thou knowest, the voluptuousness of thefuture? O my soul, I taught thee the contempt which doth not come likeworm-eating, the great, the loving contempt, which loveth most whereit contemneth most. O my soul, I taught thee so to persuade that thou persuadest eventhe grounds themselves to thee: like the sun, which persuadeth eventhe sea to its height. O my soul, I have taken from thee all obeying and knee-bending andhomage-paying; I have myself given thee the names, "Change of need"and "Fate." O my soul, I have given thee new names and gay-colouredplaythings, I have called thee "Fate" and "the Circuit of circuits"and "the Navel-string of time" and "the Azure bell." O my soul, to thy domain gave I all wisdom to drink all new wines,and also all immemorially old strong wines of wisdom. O my soul, every sun shed I upon thee, and every night and everysilence and every longing:- then grewest thou up for me as a vine. O my soul, exuberant and heavy dost thou now stand forth, a vinewith swelling udders and full clusters of brown golden grapes:- -Filled and weighted by thy happiness, waiting fromsuperabundance, and yet ashamed of thy waiting. O my soul, there is nowhere a soul which could be more loving andmore comprehensive and more extensive! Where could future and pastbe closer together than with thee? O my soul, I have given thee everything, and all my hands havebecome empty by thee:- and now! Now sayest thou to me, smiling andfull of melancholy: "Which of us oweth thanks?- -Doth the giver not owe thanks because the receiver received? Isbestowing not a necessity? Is receiving not- pitying?" O my soul, I understand the smiling of thy melancholy: thineover-abundance itself now stretcheth out longing hands! Thy fulness looketh forth over raging seas, and seeketh and waiteth:the longing of over-fulness looketh forth from the smiling heaven ofthine eyes! And verily, O my soul! Who could see thy smiling and not melt intotears? The angels themselves melt into tears through theover-graciousness of thy smiling. Thy graciousness and over-graciousness, is it which will notcomplain and weep: and yet, O my soul, longeth thy smiling fortears, and thy trembling mouth for sobs. "Is not all weeping complaining? And all complaining, accusing?"Thus speakest thou to thyself; and therefore, O my soul, wilt thourather smile than pour forth thy grief- -Than in gushing tears pour forth all thy grief concerning thyfulness, and concerning the craving of the vine for the vintager andvintage-knife! But wilt thou not weep, wilt thou not weep forth thy purplemelancholy, then wilt thou have to sing, O my soul!- Behold, I smilemyself, who foretell thee this: -Thou wilt have to sing with passionate song, until all seas turncalm to hearken unto thy longing,- -Until over calm longing seas the bark glideth, the golden marvel,around the gold of which all good, bad, and marvellous things frisk:- -Also many large and small animals, and everything that hath lightmarvellous feet, so that it can run on violet-blue paths,- -Towards the golden marvel, the spontaneous bark, and its master:he, however, is the vintager who waiteth with the diamondvintage-knife,- -Thy great deliverer, O my soul, the nameless one- for whom futuresongs only will find names! And verily, already hath thy breath thefragrance of future songs,- -Already glowest thou and dreamest, already drinkest thouthirstily at all deep echoing wells of consolation, already reposeththy melancholy in the bliss of future songs!- - O my soul, now have I given thee all, and even my last possession,and all my hands have become empty by thee:- that I bade thee sing,behold, that was my last thing to give! That I bade thee sing,- say now, say: which of us now- oweththanks?- Better still, however: sing unto me, sing, O my soul! And letme thank thee!-

Then did Life answer me thus, and kept thereby her fine ears closed: "O Zarathustra! Crack not so terribly with thy whip! Thou knowestsurely that noise killeth thought,- and just now there came to me suchdelicate thoughts. We are both of us genuine ne'er-do-wells and ne'er-do-ills. Beyondgood and evil found we our island and our green meadow- we twoalone! Therefore must we be friendly to each other! And even should we not love each other from the bottom of ourhearts,- must we then have a grudge against each other if we do notlove each other perfectly? And that I am friendly to thee, and often too friendly, that knowestthou: and the reason is that I am envious of thy Wisdom. Ah, thismad old fool, Wisdom! If thy Wisdom should one day run away from thee, ah! then would alsomy love run away from thee quickly."-

Thereupon did Life look thoughtfully behind and around, and saidsoftly: "O Zarathustra, thou art not faithful enough to me! Thou lovest me not nearly so much as thou sayest; I know thouthinkest of soon leaving me. There is an old heavy, heavy, booming-clock: it boometh by nightup to thy cave:- -When thou hearest this clock strike the hours at midnight, thenthinkest thou between one and twelve thereon- -Thou thinkest thereon, O Zarathustra, I know it- of soon leavingme!"- "Yea," answered I, hesitatingly, "but thou knowest it also"- And Isaid something into her ear, in amongst her confused, yellow,foolish tresses. "Thou knowest that, O Zarathustra? That knoweth no one- -"

And we gazed at each other, and looked at the green meadow o'erwhich the cool evening was just passing, and we wept together.-Then, however, was Life dearer unto me than all my Wisdom had everbeen.-

Thus spake Zarathustra.

3.

One!

O man! Take heed!

Two!

What saith deep midnight's voice indeed?

Three!

"I slept my sleep-

Four!

"From deepest dream I've woke and plead:-

Five!

"The world is deep,

Six!

"And deeper than the day could read.

Seven!

"Deep is its woe-

Eight!

"Joy- deeper still than grief can be:

Nine!

"Woe saith: Hence! Go!

Ten!

"But joys all want eternity-

Eleven!

"Want deep profound eternity!"

Twelve! 60. The Seven Seals (OR THE YEA AND AMEN LAY.)

1.

IF I be a diviner and full of the divining spirit which wandereth onhigh mountain-ridges, 'twixt two seas,- Wandereth 'twixt the past and the future as a heavy cloud- hostileto sultry plains, and to all that is weary and can neither die norlive: Ready for lightning in its dark bosom, and for the redeeming flashof light, charged with lightnings which say Yea! which laugh Yea!ready for divining flashes of lightning:- -Blessed, however, is he who is thus charged! And verily, longmust he hang like a heavy tempest on the mountain, who shall one daykindle the light of the future!- Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity and for the marriage-ringof rings- the ring of the return? Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to havechildren, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, OEternity! For I love thee, O Eternity!

2.

If ever my wrath hath burst graves, shifted landmarks, or rolled oldshattered tables into precipitous depths: If ever my scorn hath scattered mouldered words to the winds, and ifI have come like a besom to cross-spiders, and as a cleansing windto old charnel-houses: If ever I have sat rejoicing where old gods lie buried,world-blessing, world-loving, beside the monuments of oldworld-maligners:- -For even churches and gods'-graves do I love, if only heavenlooketh through their ruined roofs with pure eyes; gladly do I sitlike grass and red poppies on ruined churches- Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for themarriage-ring of rings- the ring of the return? Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to havechildren, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, OEternity! For I love thee, O Eternity!

3.

If ever a breath hath come to me of the creative breath, and ofthe heavenly necessity which compelleth even chances to dancestar-dances: If ever I have laughed with the laughter of the creativelightning, to which the long thunder of the deed followeth,grumblingly, but obediently: If ever I have played dice with the gods at the divine table ofthe earth, so that the earth quaked and ruptured, and snorted forthfire-streams:- -For a divine table is the earth, and trembling with new activedictums and dice-casts of the gods: Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for themarriage-ring of rings- the ring of the return? Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to havechildren, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, OEternity! For I love thee, O Eternity!

4.

If ever I have drunk a full draught of the foaming spice- andconfection-bowl in which all things are well mixed: If ever my hand hath mingled the furthest with the nearest, firewith spirit, joy with sorrow, and the harshest with the kindest: If I myself am a grain of the saving salt which maketh everything inthe confection-bowl mix well:- -For there is a salt which uniteth good with evil; and even theevilest is worthy, as spicing and as final over-foaming:- Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for themarriage-ring of rings- the ring of the return? Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to havechildren, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, OEternity! For I love thee, O Eternity!

5.

If I be fond of the sea, and all that is sealike, and fondest ofit when it angrily contradicteth me: If the exploring delight be in me, which impelleth sails to theundiscovered, if the seafarer's delight be in my delight: If ever my rejoicing hath called out: "The shore hath vanished,- nowhath fallen from me the last chain- The boundless roareth around me, far away sparkle for me space andtime,- well! cheer up! old heart!"- Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for themarriage-ring of rings- the ring of the return? Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to havechildren, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, OEternity! For I love thee, O Eternity!

6.

If my virtue be a dancer's virtue, and if I have often sprung withboth feet into golden-emerald rapture: If my wickedness be a laughing wickedness, at home amongrose-banks and hedges of lilies: -or in laughter is all evil present, but it is sanctified andabsolved by its own bliss:- And if it be my Alpha and Omega that everything heavy shall becomelight, everybody a dancer, and every spirit a bird: and verily, thatis my Alpha and Omega!- Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for themarriage-ring of rings- the ring of the return? Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to havechildren, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, OEternity! For I love thee, O Eternity!

7.

If ever I have spread out a tranquil heaven above me, and have flowninto mine own heaven with mine own pinions: If I have swum playfully in profound luminous distances, and if myfreedom's avian wisdom hath come to me:- -Thus however speaketh avian wisdom:- "Lo, there is no above andno below! Throw thyself about,- outward, backward, thou light one!Sing! speak no more! -Are not all words made for the heavy? Do not all words lie to thelight ones? Sing! speak no more!"- Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for themarriage-ring of rings- the ring of the return? Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to havechildren, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, OEternity! For I love thee, O Eternity! FOURTH AND LAST PART.

Ah, where in the world have there been greater follies than with thepitiful? And what in the world hath caused more suffering than thefollies of the pitiful? Woe unto all loving ones who have not an elevation which is abovetheir pity! Thus spake the devil unto me, once on a time: "Ever God hath hishell: it is his love for man." And lately did I hear him say these words: "God is dead: of his pityfor man hath God died."- ZARATHUSTRA, II., "The Pitiful."

61. The Honey Sacrifice

-AND again passed moons and years over Zarathustra's soul, and heheeded it not; his hair, however, became white. One day when he sat ona stone in front of his cave, and gazed calmly into the distance-one there gazeth out on the sea, and away beyond sinuous abysses,-then went his animals thoughtfully round about him, and at last setthemselves in front of him. "O Zarathustra," said they, "gazest thou out perhaps for thyhappiness?"- "Of what account is my happiness!" answered he, "I havelong ceased to strive any more for happiness, I strive for mywork."- "O Zarathustra," said the animals once more, "that sayest thouas one who hath overmuch of good things. Liest thou not in asky-blue lake of happiness?"- "Ye wags," answered Zarathustra, andsmiled, "how well did ye choose the simile! But ye know also that myhappiness is heavy, and not like a fluid wave of water: it presseth meand will not leave me, and is like molten pitch."- Then went his animals again thoughtfully around him, and placedthemselves once more in front of him. "O Zarathustra," said they,"it is consequently for that reason that thou thyself alwaysbecometh yellower and darker, although thy hair looketh white andflaxen? Lo, thou sittest in thy pitch!"- "What do ye say, mineanimals?" said Zarathustra, laughing; "verily I reviled when I spakeof pitch. As it happeneth with me, so is it with all fruits thatturn ripe. It is the honey in my veins that maketh my blood thicker,and also my soul stiller."- "So will it be, O Zarathustra," answeredhis animals, and pressed up to him; "but wilt thou not today ascenda high mountain? The air is pure, and today one seeth more of theworld than ever."- "Yea, mine animals," answered he, "ye counseladmirably and according to my heart: I will today ascend a highmountain! But see that honey is there ready to hand, yellow, white,good, ice-cool, golden-comb-honey. For know that when aloft I willmake the honey-sacrifice."- When Zarathustra, however, was aloft on the summit, he sent hisanimals home that had accompanied him, and found that he was nowalone:- then he laughed from the bottom of his heart, looked aroundhim, and spake thus:

That I spake of sacrifices and honey-sacrifices, it was merely aruse in talking and verily, a useful folly! Here aloft can I now speakfreer than in front of mountain-caves and anchorites' domesticanimals. What to sacrifice! I squander what is given me, a squanderer witha thousand hands: how could I call that- sacrificing? And when I desired honey I only desired bait, and sweet mucus andmucilage, for which even the mouths of growling bears, and strange,sulky, evil birds, water: -The best bait, as huntsmen and fishermen require it. For if theworld be as a gloomy forest of animals, and a pleasure-ground forall wild huntsmen, it seemeth to me rather- and preferably- afathomless, rich sea; -A sea full of many-hued fishes and crabs, for which even the godsmight long, and might be tempted to become fishers in it, andcasters of nets,- so rich is the world in wonderful things, greatand small! Especially the human world, the human sea:- towards it do I nowthrow out my golden angle-rod and say: Open up, thou human abyss! Open up, and throw unto me thy fish and shining crabs! With mybest bait shall I allure to myself today the strangest human fish! -My happiness itself do I throw out into all places far and wide'twixt orient, noontide, and occident, to see if many human fishwill not learn to hug and tug at my happiness;- Until, biting at my sharp hidden hooks, they have to come up unto myheight, the motleyest abyss-groundlings, to the wickedest of allfishers of men. For this am I from the heart and from the beginning- drawing,hither-drawing, upward-drawing, upbringing; a drawer, a trainer, atraining-master, who not in vain counselled himself once on a time:"Become what thou art!" Thus may men now come up to me; for as yet do I await the signs thatit is time for my down-going; as yet do I not myself go down, as Imust do, amongst men. Therefore do I here wait, crafty and scornful upon high mountains,no impatient one, no patient one; rather one who hath even unlearntpatience,- because he no longer "suffereth." For my fate giveth me time: it hath forgotten me perhaps? Or doth itsit behind a big stone and catch flies? And verily, I am well-disposed to mine eternal fate, because it dothnot hound and hurry me, but leaveth me time for merriment andmischief; so that I have to-day ascended this high mountain to catchfish. Did ever any one catch fish upon high mountains? And though it bea folly what I here seek and do, it is better so than that downbelow I should become solemn with waiting, and green and yellow- -A posturing wrath-snorter with waiting, a holy howl-storm fromthe mountains, an impatient one that shouteth down into the valleys:"Hearken, else I will scourge you with the scourge of God!" Not that I would have a grudge against such wrathful ones on thataccount: they are well enough for laughter to me! Impatient mustthey now be, those big alarm-drums, which find a voice now or never! Myself, however, and my fate- we do not talk to the Present, neitherdo we talk to the Never: for talking we have patience and time andmore than time. For one day must it yet come, and may not pass by. What must one day come and may not pass by? Our great Hazar, that isto say, our great, remote human-kingdom, the Zarathustra-kingdom ofa thousand years- - How remote may such "remoteness" be? What doth it concern me? But onthat account it is none the less sure unto me-, with both feet stand Isecure on this ground; -On an eternal ground, on hard primary rock, on this highest,hardest, primary mountain-ridge, unto which all winds come, as untothe storm-parting, asking Where? and Whence? and Whither? Here laugh, laugh, my hearty, healthy wickedness! From highmountains cast down thy glittering scorn-laughter! Allure for mewith thy glittering the finest human fish! And whatever belongeth unto me in all seas, my in-and-for-me inall things- fish that out for me, bring that up to me: for that do Iwait, the wickedest of all fish-catchers. Out! out! my fishing-hook! In and down, thou bait of my happiness!Drip thy sweetest dew, thou honey of my heart! Bite, myfishing-hook, into the belly of all black affliction! Look out, look out, mine eye! Oh, how many seas round about me, whatdawning human futures! And above me- what rosy red stillness! Whatunclouded silence! 62. The Cry of Distress

THE next day sat Zarathustra again on the stone in front of hiscave, whilst his animals roved about in the world outside to bringhome new food,- also new honey: for Zarathustra had spent and wastedthe old honey to the very last particle. When he thus sat, however,with a stick in his hand, tracing the shadow of his figure on theearth, and reflecting- verily! not upon himself and his shadow,- allat once he startled and shrank back: for he saw another shadowbeside his own. And when he hastily looked around and stood up,behold, there stood the soothsayer beside him, the same whom he hadonce given to eat and drink at his table, the proclaimer of thegreat weariness, who taught: "All is alike, nothing is worth while,the world is without meaning, knowledge strangleth." But his facehad changed since then; and when Zarathustra looked into his eyes, hisheart was startled once more: so much evil announcement andashy-grey lightnings passed over that countenance. The soothsayer, who had perceived what went on in Zarathustra'ssoul, wiped his face with his hand, as if he would wipe out theimpression; the same did also Zarathustra. And when both of them hadthus silently composed and strengthened themselves, they gave eachother the hand, as a token that they wanted once more to recogniseeach other. "Welcome hither," said Zarathustra, "thou soothsayer of the greatweariness, not in vain shalt thou once have been my messmate andguest. Eat and drink also with me to-day, and forgive it that acheerful old man sitteth with thee at table!"- "A cheerful old man?"answered the soothsayer, shaking his head, "but whoever thou art, orwouldst be, O Zarathustra, thou hast been here aloft the longesttime,- in a little while thy bark shall no longer rest on dryland!"- "Do I then rest on dry land?"- asked Zarathustra, laughing.-"The waves around thy mountain," answered the soothsayer, "rise andrise, the waves of great distress and affliction: they will soon raisethy bark also and carry thee away."- Thereupon was Zarathustrasilent and wondered.- "Dost thou still hear nothing?" continued thesoothsayer: "doth it not rush and roar out of the depth?"- Zarathustrawas silent once more and listened: then heard he a long, long cry,which the abysses threw to one another and passed on; for none of themwished to retain it: so evil did it sound. "Thou ill announcer," said Zarathustra at last, "that is a cry ofdistress, and the cry of a man; it may come perhaps out of a blacksea. But what doth human distress matter to me! My last sin which hathbeen reserved for me,- knowest thou what it is called?" -"Pity!" answered the soothsayer from an overflowing heart, andraised both his hands aloft- "O Zarathustra, I have come that I mayseduce thee to thy last sin!"- And hardly had those words been uttered when there sounded the cryonce more, and longer and more alarming than before- also much nearer."Hearest thou? Hearest thou, O Zarathustra?" called out thesoothsayer, "the cry concerneth thee, it calleth thee: Come, come,come; it is time, it is the highest time!"- Zarathustra was silent thereupon, confused and staggered; at last heasked, like one who hesitateth in himself: "And who is it that therecalleth me?" "But thou knowest it, certainly," answered the soothsayer warmly,"why dost thou conceal thyself? It is the higher man that crieth forthee!" "The higher man?" cried Zarathustra, horror-stricken: "whatwanteth he? What wanteth he? The higher man! What wanteth he here?"-and his skin covered with perspiration. The soothsayer, however, did not heed Zarathustra's alarm, butlistened and listened in the downward direction. When, however, it hadbeen still there for a long while, he looked behind, and sawZarathustra standing trembling. "O Zarathustra," he began, with sorrowful voice, "thou dost notstand there like one whose happiness maketh him giddy: thou wilthave to dance lest thou tumble down! But although thou shouldst dance before me, and leap all thyside-leaps, no one may say unto me: 'Behold, here danceth the lastjoyous man!' In vain would any one come to this height who sought him here: caveswould he find, indeed, and back-caves, hiding-places for hiddenones; but not lucky mines, nor treasure-chambers, nor new gold-veinsof happiness. Happiness- how indeed could one find happiness among suchburied-alive and solitary ones! Must I yet seek the last happinesson the Happy Isles, and far away among forgotten seas? But all is alike, nothing is worth while, no seeking is ofservice, there are no longer any Happy Isles!"- -

Thus sighed the soothsayer; with his last sigh, however, Zarathustraagain became serene and assured, like one who hath come out of adeep chasm into the light. "Nay! Nay! Three times Nay!" exclaimed hewith a strong voice, and stroked his beard- "that do I know better!There are still Happy Isles! Silence thereon, thou sighingsorrow-sack! Cease to splash thereon, thou rain-cloud of the forenoon! Do I notalready stand here wet with thy misery, and drenched like a dog? Now do I shake myself and run away from thee, that I may againbecome dry: thereat mayest thou not wonder! Do I seem to theediscourteous? Here however is my court. But as regards the higher man: well! I shall seek him at once inthose forests: from thence came his cry. Perhaps he is there hardbeset by an evil beast. He is in my domain: therein shall he receive no scath! And verily,there are many evil beasts about me."- With those words Zarathustra turned around to depart. Then saidthe soothsayer: "O Zarathustra, thou art a rogue! I know it well: thou wouldst fain be rid of me! Rather wouldstthou run into the forest and lay snares for evil beasts! But what good will it do thee? In the evening wilt thou have meagain: in thine own cave will I sit, patient and heavy like a block-and wait for thee!" "So be it!" shouted back Zarathustra, as he went away: "and whatis mine in my cave belongeth also unto thee, my guest! Shouldst thou however find honey therein, well! Just lick it up,thou growling bear, and sweeten thy soul! For in the evening we wantboth to be in good spirits; -In good spirits and joyful, because this day hath come to an end!And thou thyself shalt dance to my lays, as my dancing-bear. Thou dost not believe this? Thou shakest thy head? Well! Cheer up,old bear! But I also- am a soothsayer."

Thus spake Zarathustra. 63. Talk with the Kings

1.

ERE Zarathustra had been an hour on his way in the mountains andforests, he saw all at once a strange procession. Right on the pathwhich he was about to descend came two kings walking, bedecked withcrowns and purple girdles, and variegated like flamingoes: theydrove before them a laden ass. "What do these kings want in mydomain?" said Zarathustra in astonishment to his heart, and hidhimself hastily behind a thicket. When however the kings approached tohim, he said half-aloud, like one speaking only to himself:"Strange! Strange! How doth this harmonise? Two kings do I see- andonly one ass!" Thereupon the two kings made a halt; they smiled and lookedtowards the spot whence the voice proceeded, and afterwards lookedinto each other's faces. "Such things do we also think amongourselves," said the king on the right, "but we do not utter them." The king on the left, however, shrugged his shoulders andanswered: "That may perhaps be a goat-herd. Or an anchorite who hathlived too long among rocks and trees. For no society at all spoilethalso good manners." "Good manners?" replied angrily and bitterly the other king: "whatthen do we run out of the way of? Is it not 'good manners'? Our'good society'? Better, verily, to live among anchorites and goat-herds, than withour gilded, false, over-rouged populace- though it call itself 'goodsociety.' -Though it call itself 'nobility.' But there all is false andfoul, above all the blood- thanks to old evil diseases and worsecurers. The best and dearest to me at present is still a sound peasant,coarse, artful, obstinate and enduring: that is at present the noblesttype. The peasant is at present the best; and the peasant type should bemaster! But it is the kingdom of the populace- I no longer allowanything to be imposed upon me. The populace, however- that meaneth,hodgepodge. Populace-hodgepodge: therein is everything mixed with everything,saint and swindler, gentleman and Jew, and every beast out of Noah'sark. Good manners! Everything is false and foul with us. No one knowethany longer how to reverence: it is that precisely that we run awayfrom. They are fulsome obtrusive dogs; they gild palm-leaves. This loathing choketh me, that we kings ourselves have become false,draped and disguised with the old faded pomp of our ancestors,show-pieces for the stupidest, the craftiest, and whosoever at presenttrafficketh for power. We are not the first men- and have nevertheless to stand for them:of this imposture have we at last become weary and disgusted. From the rabble have we gone out of the way, from all thosebawlers and scribe-blowflies, from the trader-stench, theambition-fidgeting, the bad breath-: fie, to live among the rabble; -Fie, to stand for the first men among the rabble! Ah, loathing!Loathing! Loathing! What doth it now matter about us kings!"- "Thine old sickness seizeth thee," said here the king on the left,"thy loathing seizeth thee, my poor brother. Thou knowest, however,that some one heareth us." Immediately thereupon, Zarathustra, who had opened ears and eyesto this talk, rose from his hiding-place, advanced towards thekings, and thus began: "He who hearkeneth unto you, he who gladly hearkeneth unto you, iscalled Zarathustra. I am Zarathustra who once said: 'What doth it now matter aboutkings!' Forgive me; I rejoiced when ye said to each other: 'Whatdoth it matter about us kings!' Here, however, is my domain and jurisdiction: what may ye be seekingin my domain? Perhaps, however, ye have found on your way what I seek:namely, the higher man." When the kings heard this, they beat upon their breasts and saidwith one voice: "We are recognised! With the sword of thine utterance severest thou the thickestdarkness of our hearts. Thou hast discovered our distress; for lo!we are on our way to find the higher man- -The man that is higher than we, although we are kings. To him do weconvey this ass. For the highest man shall also be the highest lord onearth. There is no sorer misfortune in all human destiny, than when themighty of the earth are not also the first men. Then everythingbecometh false and distorted and monstrous. And when they are even the last men, and more beast than man, thenriseth and riseth the populace in honour, and at last saith even thepopulace-virtue: 'Lo, I alone am virtue!'"- What have I just heard? answered Zarathustra. What wisdom inkings! I am enchanted, and verily, I have already promptings to make arhyme thereon:- -Even if it should happen to be a rhyme not suited for every one'sears. I unlearned long ago to have consideration for long ears. Wellthen! Well now! (Here, however, it happened that the ass also found utterance: itsaid distinctly and with malevolence, Y-E-A.)

With those rhymes of Zarathustra the kings were delighted; theking on the right, however, said: "O Zarathustra, how well it was thatwe set out to see thee! For thine enemies showed us thy likeness in their mirror: therelookedst thou with the grimace of a devil, and sneeringly: so thatwe were afraid of thee. But what good did it do! Always didst thou prick us anew in heartand ear with thy sayings. Then did we say at last: What doth it matterhow he look! We must hear him; him who teacheth: 'Ye shall love peace as ameans to new wars, and the short peace more than the long!' No one ever spake such warlike words: 'What is good? To be braveis good. It is the good war that halloweth every cause.' O Zarathustra, our fathers' blood stirred in our veins at suchwords: it was like the voice of spring to old wine-casks. When the swords ran among one another like red-spotted serpents,then did our fathers become fond of life; the sun of every peaceseemed to them languid and lukewarm, the long peace, however, madethem ashamed. How they sighed, our fathers, when they saw on the wall brightlyfurbished, dried-up swords! Like those they thirsted for war. For asword thirsteth to drink blood, and sparkleth with desire."- - -When the kings thus discoursed and talked eagerly of thehappiness of their fathers, there came upon Zarathustra no littledesire to mock at their eagerness: for evidently they were verypeaceable kings whom he saw before him, kings with old and refinedfeatures. But he restrained himself. "Well!" said he, "thither leadeththe way, there lieth the cave of Zarathustra; and this day is tohave a long evening! At present, however, a cry of distress calleth mehastily away from you. It will honour my cave if kings want to sit and wait in it: but,to be sure, ye will have to wait long! Well! What of that! Where doth one at present learn better to waitthan at courts? And the whole virtue of kings that hath remainedunto them- is it not called to-day: Ability to wait?"

Thus spake Zarathustra. 64. The Leech

AND Zarathustra went thoughtfully on, further and lower down,through forests and past moory bottoms; as it happeneth, however, toevery one who meditateth upon hard matters, he trod thereby unawaresupon a man. And lo, there spurted into his face all at once a cry ofpain, and two curses and twenty bad invectives, so that in hisfright he raised his stick and also struck the trodden one.Immediately afterwards, however, he regained his composure, and hisheart laughed at the folly he had just committed. "Pardon me," said he to the trodden one, who had got up enraged, andhad seated himself, "pardon me, and hear first of all a parable. As a wanderer who dreameth of remote things on a lonesome highway,runneth unawares against a sleeping dog, a dog which lieth in the sun: -As both of them then start up and snap at each other, like deadlyenemies, those two beings mortally frightened- so did it happen untous. And yet! And yet- how little was lacking for them to caress eachother, that dog and that lonesome one! Are they not both- lonesomeones!" -"Whoever thou art," said the trodden one, still enraged, "thoutreadest also too nigh me with thy parable, and not only with thyfoot! Lo! am I then a dog?"- And thereupon the sitting one got up, andpulled his naked arm out of the swamp. For at first he had lainoutstretched on the ground, hidden and indiscernible, like those wholie in wait for swamp-game. "But whatever art thou about!" called out Zarathustra in alarm,for he saw a deal of blood streaming over the naked arm,- "what hathhurt thee? Hath an evil beast bit thee, thou unfortunate one?" The bleeding one laughed, still angry, "What matter is it tothee!" said he, and was about to go on. "Here am I at home and in myprovince. Let him question me whoever will: to a dolt, however, Ishall hardly answer." "Thou art mistaken," said Zarathustra sympathetically, and heldhim fast; "thou art mistaken. Here thou art not at home, but in mydomain, and therein shall no one receive any hurt. Call me however what thou wilt- I am who I must be. I call myselfZarathustra. Well! Up thither is the way to Zarathustra's cave: it is not far,-wilt thou not attend to thy wounds at my home? It hath gone badly with thee, thou unfortunate one, in this life:first a beast bit thee, and then- a man trod upon thee!"- - When however the trodden one had heard the name of Zarathustra hewas transformed. "What happeneth unto me!" he exclaimed, "whopreoccupieth me so much in this life as this one man, namelyZarathustra, and that one animal that liveth on blood, the leech? For the sake of the leech did I lie here by this swamp, like afisher, and already had mine outstretched arm been bitten ten times,when there biteth a still finer leech at my blood, Zarathustrahimself! O happiness! O miracle! Praised be this day which enticed me intothe swamp! Praised be the best, the livest cupping-glass, that atpresent liveth; praised be the great conscience-leech Zarathustra!"- Thus spake the trodden one, and Zarathustra rejoiced at his wordsand their refined reverential style. "Who art thou?" asked he, andgave him his hand, "there is much to clear up and elucidate betweenus, but already methinketh pure clear day is dawning." "I am the spiritually conscientious one," answered he who was asked,"and in matters of the spirit it is difficult for any one to take itmore rigorously, more restrictedly, and more severely than I, excepthim from whom I learnt it, Zarathustra himself. Better know nothing than half-know many things! Better be a foolon one's own account, than a sage on other people's approbation! I- goto the basis: -What matter if it be great or small? If it be called swamp orsky? A handbreadth of basis is enough for me, if it be actuallybasis and ground! -A handbreadth of basis: thereon can one stand. In the trueknowing-knowledge there is nothing great and nothing small." "Then thou art perhaps an expert on the leech?" asked Zarathustra;"and thou investigatest the leech to its ultimate basis, thouconscientious one?" "O Zarathustra," answered the trodden one, "that would besomething immense; how could I presume to do so! That, however, of which I am master and knower, is the brain ofthe leech:- that is my world! And it is also a world! Forgive it, however, that my pride herefindeth expression, for here I have not mine equal. Therefore saidI: 'here am I at home.' How long have I investigated this one thing, the brain of the leech,so that here the slippery truth might no longer slip from me! Hereis my domain! -For the sake of this did I cast everything else aside, for the sakeof this did everything else become indifferent to me; and close besidemy knowledge lieth my black ignorance. My spiritual conscience requireth from me that it should be so- thatI should know one thing, and not know all else: they are a loathingunto me, all the semi-spiritual, all the hazy, hovering, andvisionary. Where mine honesty ceaseth, there am I blind, and want also to beblind. Where I want to know, however, there want I also to behonest- namely, severe, rigorous, restricted, cruel and inexorable. Because thou once saidest, O Zarathustra: 'Spirit is life whichitself cutteth into life';- that led and allured me to thy doctrine.And verily, with mine own blood have I increased mine own knowledge!" -"As the evidence indicateth," broke in Zarathustra; for still wasthe blood flowing down on the naked arm of the conscientious one.For there had ten leeches bitten into it. "O thou strange fellow, how much doth this very evidence teach me-namely, thou thyself! And not all, perhaps, might I pour into thyrigorous ear! Well then! We part here! But I would fain find thee again. Upthither is the way to my cave: to-night shalt thou there by my welcomeguest! Fain would I also make amends to thy body for Zarathustra treadingupon thee with his feet: I think about that. Just now, however, acry of distress calleth me hastily away from thee."

Thus spake Zarathustra. 65. The Magician

1.

WHEN however Zarathustra had gone round a rock, then saw he on thesame path, not far below him, a man who threw his limbs about like amaniac, and at last tumbled to the ground on his belly. "Halt!" saidthen Zarathustra to his heart, "he there must surely be the higherman, from him came that dreadful cry of distress,- I will see if I canhelp him." When, however, he ran to the spot where the man lay onthe ground, he found a trembling old man with fixed eyes; and in spiteof all Zarathustra's efforts to lift him and set him again on hisfeet, it was all in vain. The unfortunate one, also, did not seem tonotice that some one was beside him; on the contrary, he continuallylooked around with moving gestures, like one forsaken and isolatedfrom all the world. At last, however, after much trembling, andconvulsion, and curling-himself-up, he began to lament thus:

-Nay! Come thou back! With all of thy great tortures! To me the last of lonesome ones, Oh, come thou back! All my hot tears in streamlets trickle Their course to thee! And all my final hearty fervour- Up-glow'th to thee! Oh, come thou back, Mine unfamiliar God! my pain! My final bliss!

2.

-Here, however, Zarathustra could no longer restrain himself; hetook his staff and struck the wailer with all his might. "Stopthis," cried he to him with wrathful laughter, "stop this, thoustage-player! Thou false coiner! Thou liar from the very heart! I knowthee well! I will soon make warm legs to thee, thou evil magician: I knowwell how- to make it hot for such as thou!" -"Leave off," said the old man, and sprang up from the ground,"strike me no more, O Zarathustra! I did it only for amusement! That kind of thing belongeth to mine art. Thee thyself, I wantedto put to the proof when I gave this performance. And verily, thouhast well detected me! But thou thyself- hast given me no small proof of thyself: thouart hard, thou wise Zarathustra! Hard strikest thou with thy 'truths,'thy cudgel forceth from me- this truth!" -"Flatter not," answered Zarathustra, still excited and frowning,"thou stage-player from the heart! Thou art false: why speakestthou- of truth! Thou peacock of peacocks, thou sea of vanity; what didst thourepresent before me, thou evil magician; whom was I meant to believein when thou wailedst in such wise?" "The penitent in spirit," said the old man, "it was him- Irepresented; thou thyself once devisedst this expression- -The poet and magician who at last turneth his spirit againsthimself, the transformed one who freezeth to death by his badscience and conscience. And just acknowledge it: it was long, O Zarathustra, before thoudiscoveredst my trick and lie! Thou believedst in my distress whenthou heldest my head with both thy hands,- -I heard thee lament 'we have loved him too little, loved him toolittle!' Because I so far deceived thee, my wickedness rejoiced inme." "Thou mayest have deceived subtler ones than I," said Zarathustrasternly. "I am not on my guard against deceivers; I have to be withoutprecaution: so willeth my lot. Thou, however,- must deceive: so far do I know thee! Thou mustever be equivocal, trivocal, quadrivocal, and quinquivocal! Evenwhat thou hast now confessed, is not nearly true enough nor falseenough for me! Thou bad false coiner, how couldst thou do otherwise! Thy verymalady wouldst thou whitewash if thou showed thyself naked to thyphysician. Thus didst thou whitewash thy lie before me when thou saidst: 'I didso only for amusement!' There was also seriousness therein, thou artsomething of a penitent-in-spirit! I divine thee well: thou hast become the enchanter of all the world;but for thyself thou hast no lie or artifice left,- thou artdisenchanted to thyself! Thou hast reaped disgust as thy one truth. No word in thee is anylonger genuine, but thy mouth is so: that is to say, the disgustthat cleaveth unto thy mouth."- - -"Who art thou at all!" cried here the old magician with defiantvoice, "who dareth to speak thus unto me, the greatest man nowliving?"- and a green flash shot from his eye at Zarathustra. Butimmediately after he changed, and said sadly: "O Zarathustra, I am weary of it, I am disgusted with mine arts, Iam not great, why do I dissemble! But thou knowest it well- I soughtfor greatness! A great man I wanted to appear, and persuaded many; but the lie hathbeen beyond my power. On it do I collapse. O Zarathustra, everything is a lie in me; but that I collapse-this my collapsing is genuine!"- "It honoureth thee," said Zarathustra gloomily, looking down withsidelong glance, "it honoureth thee that thou soughtest for greatness,but it betrayeth thee also. Thou art not great. Thou bad old magician, that is the best and the honestest thing Ihonour in thee, that thou hast become weary of thyself, and hastexpressed it: 'I am not great.' Therein do I honour thee as a penitent-in-spirit, and althoughonly for the twinkling of an eye, in that one moment wast thou-genuine. But tell me, what seekest thou here in my forests and rocks? Andif thou hast put thyself in my way, what proof of me wouldst thouhave?- -Wherein didst thou put me to the test?" Thus spake Zarathustra, and his eyes sparkled. But the oldmagician kept silence for a while; then said he: "Did I put thee tothe test? I- seek only. O Zarathustra, I seek a genuine one, a right one, a simple one, anunequivocal one, a man of perfect honesty, a vessel of wisdom, a saintof knowledge, a great man! Knowest thou it not, O Zarathustra? I seek Zarathustra."

-And here there arose a long silence between them: Zarathustra,however, became profoundly absorbed in thought, so that he shut hiseyes. But afterwards coming back to the situation, he grasped the handof the magician, and said, full of politeness and policy: "Well! Up thither leadeth the way, there is the cave of Zarathustra.In it mayest thou seek him whom thou wouldst fain find. And ask counsel of mine animals, mine eagle and my serpent: theyshall help thee to seek. My cave however is large. I myself, to be sure- I have as yet seen no great man. That which isgreat, the acutest eye is at present insensible to it. It is thekingdom of the populace. Many a one have I found who stretched and inflated himself, andthe people cried: 'Behold; a great man!' But what good do allbellows do! The wind cometh out at last. At last bursteth the frog which hath inflated itself too long:then cometh out the wind. To prick a swollen one in the belly, Icall good pastime. Hear that, ye boys! Our today is of the popular: who still knoweth what is great andwhat is small! Who could there seek successfully for greatness! A foolonly: it succeedeth with fools. Thou seekest for great men, thou strange fool? Who taught that tothee? Is today the time for it? Oh, thou bad seeker, why dost thou-tempt me?"- -

Thus spake Zarathustra, comforted in his heart, and went laughing onhis way. 66. Out of Service

NOT long, however, after Zarathustra had freed himself from themagician, he again saw a person sitting beside the path which hefollowed, namely a tall, black man, with a haggard, palecountenance: this man grieved him exceedingly. "Alas," said he tohis heart, "there sitteth disguised affliction; methinketh he is ofthe type of the priests: what do they want in my domain? What! Hardly have I escaped from that magician, and must anothernecromancer again run across my path,- -Some sorcerer with laying-on-of-hands, some sombre wonder-worker bythe grace of God, some anointed world-maligner, whom, may the deviltake! But the devil is never at the place which would be his rightplace: he always cometh too late, that cursed dwarf and club-foot!"- Thus cursed Zarathustra impatiently in his heart, and considered howwith averted look he might slip past the black man. But behold, itcame about otherwise. For at the same moment had the sitting onealready perceived him; and not unlike one whom an unexpected happinessovertaketh, he sprang to his feet, and went straight towardsZarathustra. "Whoever thou art, thou traveller," said he, "help a strayed one,a seeker, an old man, who may here easily come to grief! The world here is strange to me, and remote; wild beasts also didI hear howling; and he who could have given me protection- he ishimself no more. I was seeking the pious man, a saint and an anchorite, who, alone inhis forest, had not yet heard of what all the world knoweth atpresent." "What doth all the world know at present?" asked Zarathustra."Perhaps that the old God no longer liveth, in whom all the world oncebelieved?" "Thou sayest it," answered the old man sorrowfully. "And I servedthat old God until his last hour. Now, however, am I out of service, without master, and yet not free;likewise am I no longer merry even for an hour, except it be inrecollections. Therefore did I ascend into these mountains, that I might finallyhave a festival for myself once more, as becometh an old pope andchurch-father: for know it, that I am the last pope!- a festival ofpious recollections and divine services. Now, however, is he himself dead, the most pious of men, the saintin the forest, who praised his God constantly with singing andmumbling. He himself found I no longer when I found his cot- but two wolvesfound I therein, which howled on account of his death,- for allanimals loved him. Then did I haste away. Had I thus come in vain into these forests and mountains? Then didmy heart determine that I should seek another, the most pious of allthose who believe not in God-, my heart determined that I shouldseek Zarathustra!" Thus spake the hoary man, and gazed with keen eyes at him whostood before him. Zarathustra however seized the hand of the oldpope and regarded it a long while with admiration. "Lo! thou venerable one," said he then, "what a fine and longhand! That is the hand of one who hath ever dispensed blessings.Now, however, doth it hold fast him whom thou seekest, me,Zarathustra. It is I, the ungodly Zarathustra, who saith: 'Who is ungodlierthan I, that I may enjoy his teaching?'"- Thus spake Zarathustra, and penetrated with his glances the thoughtsand arrear-thoughts of the old pope. At last the latter began: "He who most loved and possessed him hath now also lost him most-: -Lo, I myself am surely the most godless of us at present? But whocould rejoice at that!"- -"Thou servedst him to the last?" asked Zarathustra thoughtfully,after a deep silence, "thou knowest how he died? Is it true whatthey say, that sympathy choked him; -That he saw how man hung on the cross, and could not endure it;-that his love to man became his hell, and at last his death?"- - The old pope however did not answer, but looked aside timidly,with a painful and gloomy expression. "Let him go," said Zarathustra, after prolonged meditation, stilllooking the old man straight in the eye. "Let him go, he is gone. And though it honoureth thee that thouspeakest only in praise of this dead one, yet thou knowest as wellas I who he was, and that he went curious ways." "To speak before three eyes," said the old pope cheerfully (he wasblind of one eye), "in divine matters I am more enlightened thanZarathustra himself- and may well be so. My love served him long years, my will followed all his will. A goodservant, however, knoweth everything, and many a thing even which amaster hideth from himself. He was a hidden God, full of secrecy. Verily, he did not come by hisson otherwise than by secret ways. At the door of his faith standethadultery. Whoever extolleth him as a God of love, doth not think highly enoughof love itself. Did not that God want also to be judge? But the lovingone loveth irrespective of reward and requital. When he was young, that God out of the Orient, then was he harsh andrevengeful, and built himself a hell for the delight of hisfavourites. At last, however, he became old and soft and mellow and pitiful,more like a grandfather than a father, but most like a tottering oldgrandmother. There did he sit shrivelled in his chimney-corner, fretting onaccount of his weak legs, world-weary, will-weary, and one day hesuffocated of his all-too-great pity."- - "Thou old pope," said here Zarathustra interposing, "hast thouseen that with thine eyes? It could well have happened in that way: inthat way, and also otherwise. When gods die they always die many kindsof death. Well! At all events, one way or other- he is gone! He was counter tothe taste of mine ears and eyes; worse than that I should not liketo say against him. I love everything that looketh bright and speaketh honestly. But he-thou knowest it, forsooth, thou old priest, there was something of thytype in him, the priest-type- he was equivocal. He was also indistinct. How he raged at us, this wrath-snorter,because we understood him badly! But why did he not speak moreclearly? And if the fault lay in our ears, why did he give us ears that heardhim badly? If there was dirt in our ears, well! who put it in them? Too much miscarried with him, this potter who had not learnedthoroughly! That he took revenge on his pots and creations, however,because they turned out badly- that was a sin against good taste. There is also good taste in piety: this at last said: 'Away withsuch a God! Better to have no God, better to set up destiny on one'sown account, better to be a fool, better to be God oneself!'"

-"What do I hear!" said then the old pope, with intent ears; "OZarathustra, thou art more pious than thou believest, with such anunbelief! Some god in thee hath converted thee to thine ungodliness. Is it not thy piety itself which no longer letteth thee believe in aGod? And thine over-great honesty will yet lead thee even beyondgood and evil! Behold, what hath been reserved for thee? Thou hast eyes and handsand mouth, which have been predestined for blessing from eternity. Onedoth not bless with the hand alone. Nigh unto thee, though thou professest to be the ungodliest one, Ifeel a hale and holy odour of long benedictions: I feel glad andgrieved thereby. Let me be thy guest, O Zarathustra, for a single night! Nowhere onearth shall I now feel better than with thee!"- "Amen! So shall it be!" said Zarathustra, with great astonishment;"up thither leadeth the way, there lieth the cave of Zarathustra. Gladly, forsooth, would I conduct thee thither myself, thouvenerable one; for I love all pious men. But now a cry of distresscalleth me hastily away from thee. In my domain shall no one come to grief; my cave is a good haven.And best of all would I like to put every sorrowful one again onfirm land and firm legs. Who, however, could take thy melancholy off thy shoulders? Forthat I am too weak. Long, verily, should we have to wait until someone re-awoke thy God for thee. For that old God liveth no more: he is indeed dead."-

Thus spake Zarathustra. 67. The Ugliest Man

-AND again did Zarathustra's feet run through mountains and forests,and his eyes sought and sought, but nowhere was he to be seen whomthey wanted to see- the sorely distressed sufferer and crier. On thewhole way, however, he rejoiced in his heart and was full ofgratitude. "What good things," said he, "hath this day given me, asamends for its bad beginning! What strange interlocutors have I found! At their words will I now chew a long while as at good corn; smallshall my teeth grind and crush them, until they flow like milk into mysoul!"- When, however, the path again curved round a rock, all at once thelandscape changed, and Zarathustra entered into a realm of death. Herebristled aloft black and red cliffs, without any grass, tree, orbird's voice. For it was a valley which all animals avoided, eventhe beasts of prey, except that a species of ugly, thick, greenserpent came here to die when they became old. Therefore the shepherdscalled this valley: "Serpent-death." Zarathustra, however, became absorbed in dark recollections, forit seemed to him as if he had once before stood in this valley. Andmuch heaviness settled on his mind, so that he walked slowly andalways more slowly, and at last stood still. Then, however, when heopened his eyes, he saw something sitting by the wayside shaped like aman, and hardly like a man, something nondescript. And all at oncethere came over Zarathustra a great shame, because he had gazed onsuch a thing. Blushing up to the very roots of his white hair, heturned aside his glance, and raised his foot that he might leavethis ill-starred place. Then, however, became the dead wildernessvocal: for from the ground a noise welled up, gurgling and rattling,as water gurgleth and rattleth at night through stopped-upwater-pipes; and at last it turned into human voice and human speech:-it sounded thus: "Zarathustra! Zarathustra! Read my riddle! Say, say! What is therevenge on the witness? I entice thee back; here is smooth ice! See to it, see to it, thatthy pride does not here break its legs! Thou thinkest thyself wise, thou proud Zarathustra! Read then theriddle, thou hard nut-cracker,- the riddle that I am! Say then: who amI!" -When however Zarathustra had heard these words,- what think ye thentook place in his soul? Pity overcame him; and he sank down all atonce, like an oak that hath long withstood many tree-fellers,-heavily, suddenly, to the terror even of those who meant to fell it.But immediately he got up again from the ground, and his countenancebecame stern. "I know thee well," said he, with a brazen voice, "thou art themurderer of God! Let me go. Thou couldst not endure him who beheld thee,- who ever beheld theethrough and through, thou ugliest man. Thou tookest revenge on thiswitness!" Thus spake Zarathustra and was about to go; but the nondescriptgrasped at a corner of his garment and began anew to gurgle and seekfor words. "Stay," said he at last- -"Stay! Do not pass by! I have divined what axe it was that struckthee to the ground: hail to thee, O Zarathustra, that thou art againupon thy feet! Thou hast divined, I know it well, how the man feeleth who killedhim,- the murderer of God. Stay! Sit down here beside me; it is not tono purpose. To whom would I go but unto thee? Stay, sit down! Do not howeverlook at me! Honour thus- mine ugliness! They persecute me: now art thou my last refuge. Not with theirhatred, not with their bailiffs;- Oh, such persecution would I mockat, and be proud and cheerful! Hath not all success hitherto been with the well-persecuted ones?And he who persecuteth well learneth readily to be obsequent- whenonce he is- put behind! But it is their pity- -Their pity is it from which I flee away and flee to thee. OZarathustra, protect me, thou, my last refuge, thou sole one whodivinedst me: -Thou hast divined how the man feeleth who killed him. Stay! Andif thou wilt go, thou impatient one, go not the way that I came.That way is bad. Art thou angry with me because I have already racked language toolong? Because I have already counselled thee? But know that it is I,the ugliest man, -Who have also the largest, heaviest feet. Where I have gone, theway is bad. I tread all paths to death and destruction. But that thou passedst me by in silence, that thou blushedst- Isaw it well: thereby did I know thee as Zarathustra. Every one else would have thrown to me his alms, his pity, in lookand speech. But for that- I am not beggar enough: that didst thoudivine. For that I am too rich, rich in what is great, frightful, ugliest,most unutterable! Thy shame, O Zarathustra, honoured me! With difficulty did I get out of the crowd of the pitiful,- that Imight find the only one who at present teacheth that 'pity isobtrusive'- thyself, O Zarathustra! -Whether it be the pity of a God, or whether it be human pity, it isoffensive to modesty. And unwillingness to help may be nobler than thevirtue that rusheth to do so. That however- namely, pity- is called virtue itself at present byall petty people:- they have no reverence for great misfortune,great ugliness, great failure. Beyond all these do I look, as a dog looketh over the backs ofthronging flocks of sheep. They are petty, good-wooled, good-willed,grey people. As the heron looketh contemptuously at shallow pools, withbackward-bent head, so do I look at the throng of grey little wavesand wills and souls. Too long have we acknowledged them to be right, those pettypeople: so we have at last given them power as well;- and now dothey teach that 'good is only what petty people call good.' And 'truth' is at present what the preacher spake who himself sprangfrom them, that singular saint and advocate of the petty people, whotestified of himself: 'I- am the truth.' That immodest one hath long made the petty people greatly puffedup,- he who taught no small error when he taught: 'I- am the truth.' Hath an immodest one ever been answered more courteously?- Thou,however, O Zarathustra, passedst him by, and saidst: 'Nay! Nay!Three times Nay!' Thou warnedst against his error; thou warnedst- the first to doso- against pity:- not every one, not none, but thyself and thy type. Thou art ashamed of the shame of the great sufferer; and verily whenthou sayest: 'From pity there cometh a heavy cloud; take heed, yemen!' -When thou teachest: 'All creators are hard, all great love isbeyond their pity:' O Zarathustra, how well versed dost thou seem tome in weather-signs! Thou thyself, however,- warn thyself also against thy pity! For manyare on their way to thee, many suffering, doubting, despairing,drowning, freezing ones- I warn thee also against myself. Thou hast read my best, my worstriddle, myself, and what I have done. I know the axe that felleththee. But he- had to die: he looked with eyes which beheld everything,- hebeheld men's depths and dregs, all his hidden ignominy and ugliness. His pity knew no modesty: he crept into my dirtiest corners. Thismost prying, over-intrusive, over-pitiful one had to die. He ever beheld me: on such a witness I would have revenge- or notlive myself. The God who beheld everything, and also man: that God had to die!Man cannot endure it that such a witness should live."

Thus spake the ugliest man. Zarathustra however got up, and preparedto go on: for he felt frozen to the very bowels. "Thou nondescript," said he, "thou warnedst me against thy path.As thanks for it I praise mine to thee. Behold, up thither is the caveof Zarathustra. My cave is large and deep and hath many corners; there findeth hethat is most hidden his hiding-place. And close beside it, there are ahundred lurking-places and by-places for creeping, fluttering, andhopping creatures. Thou outcast, who hast cast thyself out, thou wilt not liveamongst men and men's pity? Well then, do like me! Thus wilt thoulearn also from me; only the doer learneth. And talk first and foremost to mine animals! The proudest animal andthe wisest animal- they might well be the right counsellors for usboth!"- - Thus spake Zarathustra and went his way, more thoughtfully andslowly even than before: for he asked himself many things, andhardly knew what to answer. "How poor indeed is man," thought he in his heart, "how ugly, howwheezy, how full of hidden shame! They tell me that man loveth himself. Ah, how great must thatself-love be! How much contempt is opposed to it! Even this man hath loved himself, as he hath despised himself,- agreat lover methinketh he is, and a great despiser. No one have I yet found who more thoroughly despised himself: eventhat is elevation. Alas, was this perhaps the higher man whose cry Iheard? I love the great despisers. Man is something that hath to besurpassed."- - 68. The Voluntary Beggar

WHEN Zarathustra had left the ugliest man, he was chilled and feltlonesome: for much coldness and lonesomeness came over his spirit,so that even his limbs became colder thereby. When, however, hewandered on and on, uphill and down, at times past green meadows,though also sometimes over wild stony couches where formerly perhapsan impatient brook had made its bed, then he turned all at once warmerand heartier again. "What hath happened unto me?" he asked himself, "something warmand living quickeneth me; it must be in the neighbourhood. Already am I less alone; unconscious companions and brethren rovearound me; their warm breath toucheth my soul." When, however, he spied about and sought for the comforters of hislonesomeness, behold, there were kine there standing together on aneminence, whose proximity and smell had warmed his heart. The kine,however, seemed to listen eagerly to a speaker, and took no heed ofhim who approached. When, however, Zarathustra was quite nigh untothem, then did he hear plainly that a human voice spake in the midstof the kine, and apparently all of them had turned their heads towardsthe speaker. Then ran Zarathustra up speedily and drove the animals aside; for hefeared that some one had here met with harm, which the pity of thekine would hardly be able to relieve. But in this he was deceived; forbehold, there sat a man on the ground who seemed to be persuadingthe animals to have no fear of him, a peaceable man andPreacher-on-the-Mount, out of whose eyes kindness itself preached."What dost thou seek here?" called out Zarathustra in astonishment. "What do I here seek?" answered he: "the same that thou seekest,thou mischief-maker; that is to say, happiness upon earth. To that end, however, I would fain learn of these kine. For I tellthee that I have already talked half a morning unto them, and just nowwere they about to give me their answer. Why dost thou disturb them? Except we be converted and become as kine, we shall in no wise enterinto the kingdom of heaven. For we ought to learn from them one thing:ruminating. And verily, although a man should gain the whole world, and yetnot learn one thing, ruminating, what would it profit him! He wouldnot be rid of his affliction, -His great affliction: that, however, is at present calleddisgust. Who hath not at present his heart, his mouth and his eyesfull of disgust? Thou also! Thou also! But behold these kine!"- Thus spake the Preacher-on-the-Mount, and turned then his own looktowards Zarathustra- for hitherto it had rested lovingly on the kine-:then, however, he put on a different expression. "Who is this withwhom I talk?" he exclaimed, frightened, and sprang up from the ground. "This is the man without disgust, this is Zarathustra himself, thesurmounter of the great disgust, this is the eye, this is the mouth,this is the heart of Zarathustra himself." And whilst he thus spake he kissed with o'erflowing eyes the handsof him with whom he spake, and behaved altogether like one to whom aprecious gift and jewel hath fallen unawares from heaven. The kine,however, gazed at it all and wondered. "Speak not of me, thou strange one; thou amiable one!" saidZarathustra, and restrained his affection, "speak to me firstly ofthyself! Art thou not the voluntary beggar who once cast away greatriches,- -Who was ashamed of his riches and of the rich, and fled to thepoorest to bestow upon them his abundance and his heart? But theyreceived him not." "But they received me not," said the voluntary beggar, "thou knowestit, forsooth. So I went at last to the animals and to those kine." "Then learnedst thou," interrupted Zarathustra, "how much harderit is to give properly than to take properly, and that bestowingwell is an art- the last, subtlest master-art of kindness. "Especially nowadays," answered the voluntary beggar: "at present,that is to say, when everything low hath become rebellious andexclusive and haughty in its manner- in the manner of the populace. For the hour hath come, thou knowest it forsooth, for the great,evil, long, slow mob-and-slave-insurrection: it extendeth andextendeth! Now doth it provoke the lower classes, all benevolence and pettygiving; and the overrich may be on their guard! Whoever at present drip, like bulgy bottles out of all-too-smallnecks:- of such bottles at present one willingly breaketh the necks. Wanton avidity, bilious envy, careworn revenge, populace-pride:all these struck mine eye. It is no longer true that the poor areblessed. The kingdom of heaven, however, is with the kine." "And why is it not with the rich?" asked Zarathustra temptingly,while he kept back the kine which sniffed familiarly at the peacefulone. "Why dost thou tempt me?" answered the other. "Thou knowest itthyself better even than I. What was it drove me to the poorest, OZarathustra? Was it not my disgust at the richest? -At the culprits of riches, with cold eyes and rank thoughts, whopick up profit out of all kinds of rubbish- at this rabble thatstinketh to heaven, -At this gilded, falsified populace, whose fathers were pickpockets,or carrion-crows, or rag-pickers, with wives compliant, lewd andforgetful:- for they are all of them not far different from harlots- Populace above, populace below! What are 'poor' and 'rich' atpresent! That distinction did I unlearn,- then did I flee away furtherand ever further, until I came to those kine." Thus spake the peaceful one, and puffed himself and perspired withhis words: so that the kine wondered anew. Zarathustra, however,kept looking into his face with a smile, all the time the man talkedso severely- and shook silently his head. "Thou doest violence to thyself, thou Preacher-on-the-Mount, whenthou usest such severe words. For such severity neither thy mouthnor thine eye have been given thee. Nor, methinketh, hath thy stomach either: unto it all such rageand hatred and foaming-over is repugnant. Thy stomach wanteth softerthings: thou art not a butcher. Rather seemest thou to me a plant-eater and a root-man. Perhaps thougrindest corn. Certainly, however, thou art averse to fleshly joys,and thou lovest honey." "Thou hast divined me well," answered the voluntary beggar, withlightened heart. "I love honey, I also grind corn; for I have soughtout what tasteth sweetly and maketh pure breath: -Also what requireth a long time, a day's-work and a mouth's-workfor gentle idlers and sluggards. Furthest, to be sure, have those kine carried it: they havedevised ruminating and lying in the sun. They also abstain from allheavy thoughts which inflate the heart." -"Well!" said Zarathustra, "thou shouldst also see mine animals,mine eagle and my serpent,- their like do not at present exist onearth. Behold, thither leadeth the way to my cave: be tonight its guest.And talk to mine animals of the happiness of animals,- -Until I myself come home. For now a cry of distress calleth mehastily away from thee. Also, shouldst thou find new honey with me,ice-cold, golden-comb-honey, eat it! Now, however, take leave at once of thy kine, thou strange one! thouamiable one! though it be hard for thee. For they are thy warmestfriends and preceptors!"- -"One excepted, whom I hold still dearer," answered the voluntarybeggar. "Thou thyself art good, O Zarathustra, and better even thana cow!" "Away, away with thee! thou evil flatterer!" cried Zarathustramischievously, "why dost thou spoil me with such praise andflattery-honey? "Away, away from me!" cried he once more, and heaved his stick atthe fond beggar, who, however, ran nimbly away. 69. The Shadow

SCARCELY however was the voluntary beggar gone in haste, andZarathustra again alone, when he heard behind him a new voice whichcalled out: "Stay! Zarathustra! Do wait! It is myself, forsooth, OZarathustra, myself, thy shadow!" But Zarathustra did not wait; fora sudden irritation came over him on account of the crowd and thecrowding in his mountains. "Whither hath my lonesomeness gone?"spake he. "It is verily becoming too much for me; these mountains swarm; mykingdom is no longer of this world; I require new mountains. My shadow calleth me? What matter about my shadow! Let it runafter me! I- run away from it." Thus spake Zarathustra to his heart and ran away. But the one behindfollowed after him, so that immediately there were three runners,one after the other- namely, foremost the voluntary beggar, thenZarathustra, and thirdly, and hindmost, his shadow. But not long hadthey run thus when Zarathustra became conscious of his folly, andshook off with one jerk all his irritation and detestation. "What!" said he, "have not the most ludicrous things always happenedto us old anchorites and saints? Verily, my folly hath grown big in the mountains! Now do I hearsix old fools' legs rattling behind one another! But doth Zarathustra need to be frightened by his shadow? Also,methinketh that after all it hath longer legs thin mine." Thus spake Zarathustra, and, laughing with eyes and entrails, hestood still and turned round quickly- and behold, he almost therebythrew his shadow and follower to the ground, so closely had the latterfollowed at his heels, and so weak was he. For when Zarathustrascrutinised him with his glance he was frightened as by a suddenapparition, so slender, swarthy, hollow and worn-out did this followerappear. "Who art thou?" asked Zarathustra vehemently, "what doest thou here?And why callest thou thyself my shadow? Thou art not pleasing untome." "Forgive me," answered the shadow, "that it is I; and if I pleasethee not- well, O Zarathustra! therein do I admire thee and thy goodtaste. A wanderer am I, who have walked long at thy heels; always on theway, but without a goal, also without a home: so that verily, I lacklittle of being the eternally Wandering Jew, except that I am noteternal and not a Jew. What? Must I ever be on the way? Whirled by every wind, unsettled,driven about? O earth, thou hast become too round for me! On every surface have I already sat, like tired dust have I fallenasleep on mirrors and window-panes: everything taketh from me, nothinggiveth; I become thin- I am almost equal to a shadow. After thee, however, O Zarathustra, did I fly and hie longest; andthough I hid myself from thee, I was nevertheless thy best shadow:wherever thou hast sat, there sat I also. With thee have I wandered about in the remotest, coldest worlds,like a phantom that voluntarily haunteth winter roofs and snows. With thee have I pushed into all the forbidden, all the worst andthe furthest: and if there be anything of virtue in me, it is that Ihave had no fear of any prohibition. With thee have I broken up whatever my heart revered; allboundary-stones and statues have I o'erthrown; the most dangerouswishes did I pursue,- verily, beyond every crime did I once go. With thee did I unlearn the belief in words and worths and ingreat names. When the devil casteth his skin, doth not his name alsofall away? It is also skin. The devil himself is perhaps- skin. 'Nothing is true, all is permitted': so said I to myself. Into thecoldest water did I plunge with head and heart. Ah, how oft did Istand there naked on that account, like a red crab! Ah, where have gone all my goodness and all my shame and all mybelief in the good! Ah, where is the lying innocence which I oncepossessed, the innocence of the good and of their noble lies! Too oft, verily, did I follow close to the heels of truth: thendid it kick me on the face. Sometimes I meant to lie, and behold! thenonly did I hit- the truth. Too much hath become clear unto me: now it doth not concern me anymore. Nothing liveth any longer that I love,- how should I stilllove myself? 'To live as I incline, or not to live at all': so do I wish; sowisheth also the holiest. But alas! how have I still- inclination? Have I- still a goal? A haven towards which my sail is set? A good wind? Ah, he only who knoweth whither he saileth, knowethwhat wind is good, and a fair wind for him. What still remaineth to me? A heart weary and flippant; anunstable will; fluttering wings; a broken backbone. This seeking for my home: O Zarathustra, dost thou know that thisseeking hath been my home-sickening; it eateth me up. 'Where is- my home?' For it do I ask and seek, and have sought,but have not found it. O eternal everywhere, O eternal nowhere, Oeternal- in-vain!"

Thus spake the shadow, and Zarathustra's countenance lengthened athis words. "Thou art my shadow!" said he at last sadly. "Thy danger is not small, thou free spirit and wanderer! Thou hasthad a bad day: see that a still worse evening doth not overtake thee! To such unsettled ones as thou, seemeth at last even a prisonerblessed. Didst thou ever see how captured criminals sleep? Theysleep quietly, they enjoy their new security. Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture thee, a hard, rigorousdelusion! For now everything that is narrow and fixed seduceth andtempteth thee. Thou hast lost thy goal. Alas, how wilt thou forego and forgetthat loss? Thereby- hast thou also lost thy way! Thou poor rover and rambler, thou tired butterfly! wilt thou havea rest and a home this evening? Then go up to my cave! Thither leadeth the way to my cave. And now will I run quicklyaway from thee again. Already lieth as it were a shadow upon me. I will run alone, so that it may again become bright around me.Therefore must I still be a long time merrily upon my legs. In theevening, however, there will be- dancing with me!"- -

Thus spake Zarathustra. 70. Noontide

-AND Zarathustra ran and ran, but he found no one else, and wasalone and ever found himself again; he enjoyed and quaffed hissolitude, and thought of good things- for hours. About the hour ofnoontide, however, when the sun stood exactly over Zarathustra's head,he passed an old, bent and gnarled tree, which was encircled roundby the ardent love of a vine, and hidden from itself; from thisthere hung yellow grapes in abundance, confronting the wanderer.Then he felt inclined to quench a little thirst, and to break offfor himself a cluster of grapes. When, however, he had already his armout-stretched for that purpose, he felt still more inclined forsomething else- namely, to lie down beside the tree at the hour ofperfect noontide and sleep. This Zarathustra did; and no sooner had he laid himself on theground in the stillness and secrecy of the variegated grass, than hehad forgotten his little thirst, and fell asleep. For as the proverbof Zarathustra saith: "One thing is more necessary than the other."Only that his eyes remained open:- for they never grew weary ofviewing and admiring the tree and the love of the vine. In fallingasleep, however, Zarathustra spake thus to his heart:

"Hush! Hush! Hath not the world now become perfect? What hathhappened unto me? As a delicate wind danceth invisibly upon parqueted seas, light,feather-light, so- danceth sleep upon me. No eye doth it close to me, it leaveth my soul awake. Light is it,verily, feather-light. It persuadeth me, I know not how, it toucheth me inwardly with acaressing hand, it constraineth me. Yea, it constraineth me, so thatmy soul stretcheth itself out:- -How long and weary it becometh, my strange soul! Hath a seventh-dayevening come to it precisely at noontide? Hath it already wandered toolong, blissfully, among good and ripe things? It stretcheth itself out, long- longer! it lieth still, my strangesoul. Too many good things hath it already tasted; this golden sadnessoppresseth it, it distorteth its mouth. -As a ship that putteth into the calmest cove:- it now draweth up tothe land, weary of long voyages and uncertain seas. Is not the landmore faithful? As such a ship huggeth the shore, tuggeth the shore:- then itsufficeth for a spider to spin its thread from the ship to the land.No stronger ropes are required there. As such a weary ship in the calmest cove, so do I also now repose,nigh to the earth, faithful, trusting, waiting, bound to it with thelightest threads. O happiness! O happiness! Wilt thou perhaps sing, O my soul? Thouliest in the grass. But this is the secret, solemn hour, when noshepherd playeth his pipe. Take care! Hot noontide sleepeth on the fields. Do not sing! Hush!The world is perfect. Do not sing, thou prairie-bird, my soul! Do not even whisper! Lo-hush! The old noontide sleepeth, it moveth its mouth: doth it not justnow drink a drop of happiness- -An old brown drop of golden happiness, golden wine? Somethingwhisketh over it, its happiness laugheth. Thus- laugheth a God. Hush!- -'For happiness, how little sufficeth for happiness!' Thus spake Ionce and thought myself wise. But it was a blasphemy: that have Inow learned. Wise fools speak better. The least thing precisely, the gentlest thing, the lightest thing, alizard's rustling, a breath, a whisk, an eye-glance- little makethup the best happiness. Hush! -What hath befallen me: Hark! Hath time flown away? Do I not fall?Have I not fallen- hark! into the well of eternity? -What happeneth to me? Hush! It stingeth me- alas- to the heart?To the heart! Oh, break up, break up, my heart, after suchhappiness, after such a sting! -What? Hath not the world just now become perfect? Round and ripe?Oh, for the golden round ring- whither doth it fly? Let me run afterit! Quick! Hush- -" (and here Zarathustra stretched himself, and felt that hewas asleep.) "Up!" said he to himself, "thou sleeper! Thou noontide sleeper! Wellthen, up, ye old legs! It is time and more than time; many a goodstretch of road is still awaiting you- Now have ye slept your fill; for how long a time? A half-eternity!Well then, up now, mine old heart! For how long after such a sleepmayest thou- remain awake?" (But then did he fall asleep anew, and his soul spake against himand defended itself, and lay down again)- "Leave me alone! Hush!Hath not the world just now become perfect? Oh, for the golden roundball!- "Get up," said Zarathustra, "thou little thief, thou sluggard! What!Still stretching thyself, yawning, sighing, failing into deep wells? Who art thou then, O my soul!" (and here he became frightened, for asunbeam shot down from heaven upon his face.) "O heaven above me," said he sighing, and sat upright, "thougazest at me? Thou hearkenest unto my strange soul? When wilt thou drink this drop of dew that fell down upon allearthly things,- when wilt thou drink this strange soul- -When, thou well of eternity! thou joyous, awful, noontide abyss!when wilt thou drink my soul back into thee?"

Thus spake Zarathustra, and rose from his couch beside the tree,as if awakening from a strange drunkenness: and behold! there stoodthe sun still exactly above his head. One might, however, rightlyinfer therefrom that Zarathustra had not then slept long. 71. The Greeting

IT WAS late in the afternoon only when Zarathustra, after longuseless searching and strolling about, again came home to his cave.When, however, he stood over against it, not more than twenty pacestherefrom, the thing happened which he now least of all expected: heheard anew the great cry of distress. And extraordinary! this time thecry came out of his own cave. It was a long, manifold, peculiar cry,and Zarathustra plainly distinguished that it was composed of manyvoices: although heard at a distance it might sound like the cry outof a single mouth. Thereupon Zarathustra rushed forward to his cave, and behold! what aspectacle awaited him after that concert! For there did they all sittogether whom he had passed during the day: the king on the rightand the king on the left, the old magician, the pope, the voluntarybeggar, the shadow, the intellectually conscientious one, thesorrowful soothsayer, and the ass; the ugliest man, however, had set acrown on his head, and had put round him two purple girdles,- for heliked, like all ugly ones, to disguise himself and play the handsomeperson. In the midst, however, of that sorrowful company stoodZarathustra's eagle, ruffled and disquieted, for it had been calledupon to answer too much for which its pride had not any answer; thewise serpent however hung round its neck. All this did Zarathustra behold with great astonishment; thenhowever he scrutinised each individual guest with courteous curiosity,read their souls and wondered anew. In the meantime the assembled oneshad risen from their seats, and waited with reverence forZarathustra to speak. Zarathustra however spake thus: "Ye despairing ones! Ye strange ones! So it was your cry of distressthat I heard? And now do I know also where he is to be sought, whomI have sought for in vain today: the higher man-: -In mine own cave sitteth he, the higher man! But why do I wonder!Have not I myself allured him to me by honey-offerings and artfullure-calls of my happiness? But it seemeth to me that ye are badly adapted for company: yemake one another's hearts fretful, ye that cry for help, when ye sithere together? There is one that must first come, -One who will make you laugh once more, a good jovial buffoon, adancer, a wind, a wild romp, some old fool:- what think ye? Forgive me, however, ye despairing ones, for speaking such trivialwords before you, unworthy, verily, of such guests! But ye do notdivine what maketh my heart wanton:- -Ye yourselves do it, and your aspect, forgive it me! For everyone becometh courageous who beholdeth a despairing one. To encourage adespairing one- every one thinketh himself strong enough to do so. To myself have ye given this power,- a good gift, mine honourableguests! An excellent guest's-present! Well, do not then upbraid when Ialso offer you something of mine. This is mine empire and my dominion: that which is mine, however,shall this evening and tonight be yours. Mine animals shall serve you:let my cave be your resting-place! At house and home with me shall no one despair: in my purlieus doI protect every one from his wild beasts. And that is the firstthing which I offer you: security! The second thing, however, is my little finger. And when ye havethat, then take the whole hand also, yea and the heart with it!Welcome here, welcome to you, my guests!" Thus spake Zarathustra, and laughed with love and mischief. Afterthis greeting his guests bowed once more and were reverentiallysilent; the king on the right, however, answered him in their name. "O Zarathustra, by the way in which thou hast given us thy handand thy greeting, we recognise thee as Zarathustra. Thou hasthumbled thyself before us; almost hast thou hurt our reverence-: -Who however could have humbled himself as thou hast done, with suchpride? That uplifteth us ourselves; a refreshment is it, to our eyesand hearts. To behold this, merely, gladly would we ascend higher mountains thanthis. For as eager beholders have we come; we wanted to see whatbrighteneth dim eyes. And lo! now is it all over with our cries of distress. Now are ourminds and hearts open and enraptured. Little is lacking for ourspirits to become wanton. There is nothing, O Zarathustra, that groweth more pleasingly onearth than a lofty, strong will: it is the finest growth. An entirelandscape refresheth itself at one such tree. To the pine do I compare him, O Zarathustra, which groweth up likethee- tall, silent, hardy, solitary, of the best, supplest wood,stately,- -In the end, however, grasping out for its dominion with strong,green branches, asking weighty questions of the wind, the storm, andwhatever is at home on high places; -Answering more weightily, a commander, a victor! Oh! who should notascend high mountains to behold such growths? At thy tree, O Zarathustra, the gloomy and ill-constituted alsorefresh themselves; at thy look even the wavering become steady andheal their hearts. And verily, towards thy mountain and thy tree do many eyes turnto-day; a great longing hath arisen, and many have learned to ask:'Who is Zarathustra?' And those into whose ears thou hast at any time dripped thy song andthy honey: all the hidden ones, the lone-dwellers and thetwain-dwellers, have simultaneously said to their hearts: 'Doth Zarathustra still live? It is no longer worth while to live,everything is indifferent, everything is useless: or else- we mustlive with Zarathustra!' 'Why doth he not come who hath so long announced himself?' thus domany people ask; 'hath solitude swallowed him up? Or should we perhapsgo to him?' Now doth it come to pass that solitude itself becometh fragile andbreaketh open, like a grave that breaketh open and can no longerhold its dead. Everywhere one seeth resurrected ones. Now do the waves rise and rise around thy mountain, O Zarathustra.And however high be thy height, many of them must rise up to thee: thyboat shall not rest much longer on dry ground. And that we despairing ones have now come into thy cave, and alreadyno longer despair:- it is but a prognostic and a presage that betterones are on the way to thee,- -For they themselves are on the way to thee, the last remnant of Godamong men- that is to say, all the men of great longing, of greatloathing, of great satiety, -All who do not want to live unless they learn again to hope- unlessthey learn from thee, O Zarathustra, the great hope!" Thus spake the king on the right, and seized the hand of Zarathustrain order to kiss it; but Zarathustra checked his veneration, andstepped back frightened, fleeing as it were, silently and suddenlyinto the far distance. After a little while, however, he was againat home with his guests, looked at them with clear scrutinisingeyes, and said: "My guests, ye higher men, I will speak plain language and plainlywith you. It is not for you that I have waited here in thesemountains." ("'Plain language and plainly?' Good God!" said here the king on theleft to himself; "one seeth he doth not know the good Occidentals,this sage out of the Orient! But he meaneth 'blunt language and bluntly'- well! That is not theworst taste in these days!") "Ye may, verily, all of you be higher men," continued Zarathustra;"but for me- ye are neither high enough, nor strong enough. For me, that is to say, for the inexorable which is now silent inme, but will not always be silent. And if ye appertain to me, still itis not as my right arm. For he who himself standeth, like you, on sickly and tender legs,wisheth above all to be treated indulgently, whether he be consciousof it or hide it from himself. My arms and my legs, however, I do not treat indulgently, I do nottreat my warriors indulgently: how then could ye be fit for mywarfare? With you I should spoil all my victories. And many of you wouldtumble over if ye but heard the loud beating of my drums. Moreover, ye are not sufficiently beautiful and well-born for me.I require pure, smooth mirrors for my doctrines; on your surfaceeven mine own likeness is distorted. On your shoulders presseth many a burden, many a recollection;many a mischievous dwarf squatteth in your corners. There is concealedpopulace also in you. And though ye be high and of a higher type, much in you is crookedand misshapen. There is no smith in the world that could hammer youright and straight for me. Ye are only bridges: may higher ones pass over upon you! Yesignify steps: so do not upbraid him who ascendeth beyond you into hisheight! Out of your seed there may one day arise for me a genuine son andperfect heir: but that time is distant. Ye yourselves are not thoseunto whom my heritage and name belong. Not for you do I wait here in these mountains; not with you may Idescend for the last time. Ye have come unto me only as a presage thathigher ones are on the way to me,- -Not the men of great longing, of great loathing, of greatsatiety, and that which ye call the remnant of God; -Nay! Nay! Three times Nay! For others do I wait here in thesemountains, and will not lift my foot from thence without them; -For higher ones, stronger ones, triumphanter ones, merrier ones,for such as are built squarely in body and soul: laughing lions mustcome! O my guests, ye strange ones- have ye yet heard nothing of mychildren? And that they are on the way to me? Do speak unto me of my gardens, of my Happy Isles, of my newbeautiful race- why do ye not speak unto me thereof? This guests'- present do I solicit of your love, that ye speakunto me of my children. For them am I rich, for them I became poor:what have I not surrendered. What would I not surrender that I might have one thing: thesechildren, this living plantation, these life-trees of my will and ofmy highest hope!" Thus spake Zarathustra, and stopped suddenly in his discourse: forhis longing came over him, and he closed his eyes and his mouth,because of the agitation of his heart. And all his guests also weresilent, and stood still and confounded: except only that the oldsoothsayer made signs with his hands and his gestures. 72. The Supper

FOR at this point the soothsayer interrupted the greeting ofZarathustra and his guests: he pressed forward as one who had notime to lose, seized Zarathustra's hand and exclaimed: "ButZarathustra! One thing is more necessary than the other, so sayest thouthyself: well, one thing is now more necessary unto me than allothers. A word at the right time: didst thou not invite me to table? Andhere are many who have made long journeys. Thou dost not mean tofeed us merely with discourses? Besides, all of you have thought too much about freezing,drowning, suffocating, and other bodily dangers: none of you, however,have thought of my danger, namely, perishing of hunger-" (Thus spake the soothsayer. When Zarathustra's animals, however,heard these words, they ran away in terror. For they saw that all theyhad brought home during the day would not be enough to fill the onesoothsayer.) "Likewise perishing of thirst," continued the soothsayer. "Andalthough I hear water splashing here like words of wisdom- that isto say, plenteously and unweariedly, I- want wine! Not every one is a born water-drinker like Zarathustra. Neither dothwater suit weary and withered ones: we deserve wine- it alone givethimmediate vigour and improvised health!" On this occasion, when the soothsayer was longing for wine, ithappened that the king on the left, the silent one, also foundexpression for once. "We took care," said he, "about wine, I, alongwith my brother the king on the right: we have enough of wine,- awhole ass-load of it. So there is nothing lacking but bread." "Bread," replied Zarathustra, laughing when he spake, "it isprecisely bread that anchorites have not. But man doth not live bybread alone, but also by the flesh of good lambs, of which I have two: -These shall we slaughter quickly, and cook spicily with sage: it isso that I like them. And there is also no lack of roots and fruits,good enough even for the fastidious and dainty,- nor of nuts and otherriddles for cracking. Thus will we have a good repast in a little while. But whoeverwisheth to eat with us must also give a hand to the work, even thekings. For with Zarathustra even a king may be a cook." This proposal appealed to the hearts of all of them, save that thevoluntary beggar objected to the flesh and wine and spices. "Just hear this glutton Zarathustra!" said he jokingly: "doth one gointo caves and high mountains to make such repasts? Now indeed do I understand what he once taught us: Blessed bemoderate poverty!' And why he wisheth to do away with beggars." "Be of good cheer," replied Zarathustra, "as I am. Abide by thycustoms, thou excellent one: grind thy corn, drink thy water, praisethy cooking,- if only it make thee glad! I am a law only for mine own; I am not a law for all. He, however,who belongeth unto me must be strong of bone and light of foot,- -Joyous in fight and feast, no sulker, no John o' Dreams, readyfor the hardest task as for the feast, healthy and hale. The best belongeth unto mine and me; and if it be not given us, thendo we take it:- the best food, the purest sky, the strongest thoughts,the fairest women!"- Thus spake Zarathustra; the king on the right however answered andsaid: "Strange! Did one ever hear such sensible things out of themouth of a wise man? And verily, it is the strangest thing in a wise man, if over andabove, he be still sensible, and not an ass."

Thus spake the king on the right and wondered; the ass however, withill-will, said YE-A to his remark. This however was the beginning ofthat long repast which is called "The Supper" in the history-books. Atthis there was nothing else spoken of but the higher man. 73. The Higher Man

1.

WHEN I came unto men for the first time, then did I commit theanchorite folly, the great folly: I appeared on the market-place. And when I spake unto all, I spake unto none. In the evening,however, rope-dancers were my companions, and corpses; and I myselfalmost a corpse. With the new morning, however, there came unto me a new truth:then did I learn to say: "Of what account to me are market-place andpopulace and populace-noise and long populace-cars!" Ye higher men, learn this from me: On the market-place no onebelieveth in higher men. But if ye will speak there, very well! Thepopulace, however, blinketh: "We are all equal." "Ye higher men,"- so blinketh the populace- "there are no highermen, we are all equal; man is man, before God- we are all equal!" Before God!- Now, however, this God hath died. Before thepopulace, however, we will not be equal. Ye higher men, away fromthe market-place!

2.

Before God!- Now however this God hath died! Ye higher men, this Godwas your greatest danger. Only since he lay in the grave have ye again arisen. Now only comeththe great noontide, now only doth the higher man become- master! Have ye understood this word, O my brethren? Ye are frightened: doyour hearts turn giddy? Doth the abyss here yawn for you? Doth thehell-hound here yelp at you? Well! Take heart! ye higher men! Now only travaileth the mountain ofthe human future. God hath died: now do we desire- the Superman tolive.

3.

The most careful ask to-day: "How is man to be maintained?"Zarathustra however asketh, as the first and only one: "How is manto be surpassed?" The Superman, I have at heart; that is the first and only thing tome- and not man: not the neighbour, not the poorest, not the sorriest,not the best.- O my brethren, what I can love in man is that he is an over-goingand a down-going. And also in you there is much that maketh me loveand hope. In that ye have despised, ye higher men, that maketh me hope. Forthe great despisers are the great reverers. In that ye have despaired, there is much to honour. For ye havenot learned to submit yourselves, ye have not learned petty policy. For to-day have the petty people become master: they all preachsubmission and humility and policy and diligence and consideration andthe long et cetera of petty virtues. Whatever is of the effeminate type, whatever originateth from theservile type, and especially the populace-mishmash:- that wishethnow to be master of all human destiny- O disgust! Disgust! Disgust! That asketh and asketh and never tireth: "How is man to maintainhimself best, longest, most pleasantly?" Thereby- are they the mastersof today. These masters of today- surpass them, O my brethren- these pettypeople: they are the Superman's greatest danger! Surpass, ye higher men, the petty virtues, the petty policy, thesand-grain considerateness, the ant-hill trumpery, the pitiablecomfortableness, the "happiness of the greatest number"-! And rather despair than submit yourselves. And verily, I love you,because ye know not today how to live, ye higher men! For thus do yelive- best!

4.

Have ye courage, O my brethren? Are ye stout-hearted? Not thecourage before witnesses, but anchorite and eagle courage, which noteven a God any longer beholdeth? Cold souls, mules, the blind and the drunken, I do not callstout-hearted. He hath heart who knoweth fear, but vanquisheth it; whoseeth the abyss, but with pride. He who seeth the abyss, but with eagle's eyes,- he who witheagle's talons graspeth the abyss: he hath courage.- -

5.

"Man is evil"- so said to me for consolation, all the wisest ones.Ah, if only it be still true today! For the evil is man's best force. "Man must become better and eviler"- so do I teach. The evilest isnecessary for the Superman's best. It may have been well for the preacher of the petty people to sufferand be burdened by men's sin. I, however, rejoice in great sin as mygreat consolation.- Such things, however, are not said for long ears. Every word,also, is not suited for every mouth. These are fine far-away things:at them sheep's claws shall not grasp!

6.

Ye higher men, think ye that I am here to put right what ye have putwrong? Or that I wished henceforth to make snugger couches for yousufferers? Or show you restless, miswandering, misclimbing ones, newand easier footpaths? Nay! Nay! Three times Nay! Always more, always better ones of yourtype shall succumb,- for ye shall always have it worse and harder.Thus only- -Thus only groweth man aloft to the height where the lightningstriketh and shattereth him: high enough for the lightning! Towards the few, the long, the remote go forth my soul and myseeking: of what account to me are your many little, short miseries! Ye do not yet suffer enough for me! For ye suffer from yourselves,ye have not yet suffered from man. Ye would lie if ye spake otherwise!None of you suffereth from what I have suffered.- -

7.

It is not enough for me that the lightning no longer doeth harm. Ido not wish to conduct it away: it shall learn- to work for me.- My wisdom hath accumulated long like a cloud, it becometh stillerand darker. So doeth all wisdom which shall one day bear lightnings.- Unto these men of today will I not be light, nor be called light.Them- will I blind: lightning of my wisdom! put out their eyes!

8.

Do not will anything beyond your power: there is a bad falsenessin those who will beyond their power. Especially when they will great things! For they awaken distrustin great things, these subtle false-coiners and stage-players:- -Until at last they are false towards themselves, squint-eyed,whited cankers, glossed over with strong words, parade virtues andbrilliant false deeds. Take good care there, ye higher men! For nothing is more precious tome, and rarer, than honesty. Is this today not that of the populace? The populace however knowethnot what is great and what is small, what is straight and what ishonest: it is innocently crooked, it ever lieth.

9.

Have a good distrust today ye, higher men, ye enheartened ones! Yeopen-hearted ones! And keep your reasons secret! For this today isthat of the populace. What the populace once learned to believe without reasons, whocould- refute it to them by means of reasons? And on the market-place one convinceth with gestures. But reasonsmake the populace distrustful. And when truth hath once triumphed there, then ask yourselves withgood distrust: "What strong error hath fought for it?" Be on your guard also against the learned! They hate you, becausethey are unproductive! They have cold, withered eyes before whichevery bird is unplumed. Such persons vaunt about not lying: but inability to lie is stillfar from being love to truth. Be on your guard! Freedom from fever is still far from being knowledge! Refrigeratedspirits I do not believe in. He who cannot lie, doth not know whattruth is.

10.

If ye would go up high, then use your own legs! Do not getyourselves carried aloft; do not seat yourselves on other people'sbacks and heads! Thou hast mounted, however, on horseback? Thou now ridest briskly upto thy goal? Well, my friend! But thy lame foot is also with thee onhorseback! When thou reachest thy goal, when thou alightest from thy horse:precisely on thy height, thou higher man,- then wilt thou stumble!

11.

Ye creating ones, ye higher men! One is only pregnant with one's ownchild. Do not let yourselves be imposed upon or put upon! Who then isyour neighbour? Even if ye act "for your neighbour"- ye still do notcreate for him! Unlearn, I pray you, this "for," ye creating ones: your veryvirtue wisheth you to have naught to do with "for" and "on account of"and "because." Against these false little words shall ye stop yourears. "For one's neighbour," is the virtue only of the petty people: thereit is said "like and like," and "hand washeth hand":- they haveneither the right nor the power for your self-seeking! In your self-seeking, ye creating ones, there is the foresight andforeseeing of the pregnant! What no one's eye hath yet seen, namely,the fruit- this, sheltereth and saveth and nourisheth your entirelove. Where your entire love is, namely, with your child, there is alsoyour entire virtue! Your work, your will is your "neighbour": let nofalse values impose upon you!

12.

Ye creating ones, ye higher men! Whoever hath to give birth is sick;whoever hath given birth, however, is unclean. Ask women: one giveth birth, not because it giveth pleasure. Thepain maketh hens and poets cackle. Ye creating ones, in you there is much uncleanliness. That isbecause ye have had to be mothers. A new child: oh, how much new filth hath also come into the world!Go apart! He who hath given birth shall wash his soul!

13.

Be not virtuous beyond your powers! And seek nothing from yourselvesopposed to probability! Walk in the footsteps in which your fathers' virtue hath alreadywalked! How would ye rise high, if your fathers' will should notrise with you? He, however, who would be a firstling, let him take care lest healso become a lastling! And where the vices of your fathers are, thereshould ye not set up as saints! He whose fathers were inclined for women, and for strong wine andflesh of wildboar swine; what would it be if he demanded chastity ofhimself? A folly would it be! Much, verily, doth it seem to me for such aone, if he should be the husband of one or of two or of three women. And if he founded monasteries, and inscribed over their portals:"The way to holiness,"- I should still say: What good is it! it is anew folly! He hath founded for himself a penance-house and refuge-house: muchgood may it do! But I do not believe in it. In solitude there groweth what any one bringeth into it- also thebrute in one's nature. Thus is solitude inadvisable unto many. Hath there ever been anything filthier on earth than the saints ofthe wilderness? Around them was not only the devil loose- but also theswine.

14.

Shy, ashamed, awkward, like the tiger whose spring hath failed-thus, ye higher men, have I often seen you slink aside. A cast whichye made had failed. But what doth it matter, ye dice-players! Ye had not learned to playand mock, as one must play and mock! Do we not ever sit at a greattable of mocking and playing? And if great things have been a failure with you, have ye yourselvestherefore- been a failure? And if ye yourselves have been a failure,hath man therefore- been a failure? If man, however, hath been afailure: well then! never mind!

15.

The higher its type, always the seldomer doth a thing succeed. Yehigher men here, have ye not all- been failures? Be of good cheer; what doth it matter? How much is still possible!Learn to laugh at yourselves, as ye ought to laugh! What wonder even that ye have failed and only half-succeeded, yehalf-shattered ones! Doth not- man's future strive and struggle inyou? Man's furthest, profoundest, star-highest issues, his prodigiouspowers- do not all these foam through one another in your vessel? What wonder that many a vessel shattereth! Learn to laugh atyourselves, as ye ought to laugh! Ye higher men, Oh, how much is stillpossible! And verily, how much hath already succeeded! How rich is thisearth in small, good, perfect things, in well-constituted things! Set around you small, good, perfect things, ye higher men. Theirgolden maturity healeth the heart. The perfect teacheth one to hope.

16.

What hath hitherto been the greatest sin here on earth? Was it notthe word of him who said: "Woe unto them that laugh now!" Did he himself find no cause for laughter on the earth? Then hesought badly. A child even findeth cause for it. He- did not love sufficiently: otherwise would he also have lovedus, the laughing ones! But he hated and hooted us; wailing andteeth-gnashing did he promise us. Must one then curse immediately, when one doth not love? That-seemeth to me bad taste. Thus did he, however, this absolute one. Hesprang from the populace. And he himself just did not love sufficiently; otherwise would hehave raged less because people did not love him. All great love dothnot seek love:- it seeketh more. Go out of the way of all such absolute ones! They are a poorsickly type, a populace-type: they look at this life with ill-will,they have an evil eye for this earth. Go out of the way of all such absolute ones! They have heavy feetand sultry hearts:- they do not know how to dance. How could the earthbe light to such ones!

17.

Tortuously do all good things come nigh to their goal. Like catsthey curve their backs, they purr inwardly with their approachinghappiness,- all good things laugh. His step betrayeth whether a person already walketh on his own path:just see me walk! He, however, who cometh nigh to his goal, danceth. And verily, a statue have I not become, not yet do I stand therestiff, stupid and stony, like a pillar; I love fast racing. And though there be on earth fens and dense afflictions, he who hathlight feet runneth even across the mud, and danceth, as uponwell-swept ice. Lift up your hearts, my brethren, high, higher! And do not forgetyour legs! Lift up also your legs, ye good dancers, and betterstill, if ye stand upon your heads!

18.

This crown of the laughter, this rose-garland crown: I myself haveput on this crown, I myself have consecrated my laughter. No oneelse have I found to-day potent enough for this. Zarathustra the dancer, Zarathustra the light one, who beckonethwith his pinions, one ready for flight, beckoning unto all birds,ready and prepared, a blissfully light-spirited one:- Zarathustra the soothsayer, Zarathustra the sooth-laugher, noimpatient one, no absolute one, one who loveth leaps and side-leaps; Imyself have put on this crown!

19.

Lift up your hearts, my brethren, high, higher! And do not forgetyour legs! Lift up also your legs, ye good dancers, and better stillif ye stand upon your heads! There are also heavy animals in a state of happiness, there areclub-footed ones from the beginning. Curiously do they exertthemselves, like an elephant which endeavoureth to stand upon itshead. Better, however, to be foolish with happiness than foolish withmisfortune, better to dance awkwardly than walk lamely. So learn, Ipray you, my wisdom, ye higher men: even the worst thing hath two goodreverse sides,- -Even the worst thing hath good dancing-legs: so learn, I prayyou, ye higher men, to put yourselves on your proper legs! So unlearn, I pray you, the sorrow-sighing, and all thepopulace-sadness! Oh, how sad the buffoons of the populace seem tome today! This today, however, is that of the populace.

20.

Do like unto the wind when it rusheth forth from its mountain-caves:unto its own piping will it dance; the seas tremble and leap under itsfootsteps. That which giveth wings to asses, that which milketh the lionesses:-praised be that good, unruly spirit, which cometh like a hurricaneunto all the present and unto all the populace,- -Which is hostile to thistle-heads and puzzle-heads, and to allwithered leaves and weeds:- praised be this wild, good, free spirit ofthe storm, which danceth upon fens and afflictions, as upon meadows! Which hateth the consumptive populace-dogs, and all theill-constituted, sullen brood:- praised be this spirit of all freespirits, the laughing storm, which bloweth dust into the eyes of allthe melanopic and melancholic! Ye higher men, the worst thing in you is that ye have none of youlearned to dance as ye ought to dance- to dance beyond yourselves!What doth it matter that ye have failed! How many things are still possible! So learn to laugh beyondyourselves! Lift up your hearts, ye good dancers, high! higher! And donot forget the good laughter! This crown of the laughter, this rose-garland crown: to you, mybrethren, do I cast this crown! Laughing have I consecrated; ye highermen, learn, I pray you- to laugh! 74. The Song of Melancholy

1.

WHEN Zarathustra spake these sayings, he stood nigh to theentrance of his cave; with the last words, however, he slipped awayfrom his guests, and fled for a little while into the open air. "O pure odours around me," cried he, "O blessed stillness around me!But where are mine animals? Hither, hither, mine eagle and my serpent! Tell me, mine animals: these higher men, all of them- do theyperhaps not smell well? O pure odours around me! Now only do I knowand feel how I love you, mine animals." -And Zarathustra said once more: "I love you, mine animals!" Theeagle, however, and the serpent pressed close to him when he spakethese words, and looked up to him. In this attitude were they allthree silent together, and sniffed and sipped the good air with oneanother. For the air here outside was better than with the higher men.

2.

Hardly, however, had Zarathustra left the cave when the old magiciangot up, looked cunningly about him, and said: "He is gone! And already, ye higher men- let me tickle you with thiscomplimentary and flattering name, as he himself doeth- already dothmine evil spirit of deceit and magic attack me, my melancholy devil, -Which is an adversary to this Zarathustra from the very heart:forgive it for this! Now doth it wish to conjure before you, it hathjust its hour; in vain do I struggle with this evil spirit. Unto all of you, whatever honours ye like to assume in your names,whether ye call yourselves 'the free spirits' or 'theconscientious,' or 'the penitents of the spirit,' or 'the unfettered,'or 'the great longers,'- -Unto all of you, who like me suffer from the great loathing, towhom the old God hath died, and as yet no new God lieth in cradles andswaddling clothes- unto all of you is mine evil spirit and magic-devilfavourable. I know you, ye higher men, I know him,- I know also this fiendwhom I love in spite of me, this Zarathustra: he himself often seemethto me like the beautiful mask of a saint, -Like a new strange mummery in which mine evil spirit, themelancholy devil, delighteth:- I love Zarathustra, so doth it oftenseem to me, for the sake of mine evil spirit.- But already doth it attack me and constrain me, this spirit ofmelancholy, this evening-twilight devil: and verily, ye higher men, ithath a longing- -Open your eyes!- it hath a longing to come naked, whether male orfemale, I do not yet know: but it cometh, it constraineth me, alas!open your wits! The day dieth out, unto all things cometh now the evening, also untothe best things; hear now, and see, ye higher men, what devil- manor woman- this spirit of evening-melancholy is!" Thus spake the old magician, looked cunningly about him, and thenseized his harp.

3.

In evening's limpid air, What time the dew's soothings Unto the earth downpour, Invisibly and unheard- For tender shoe-gear wear The soothing dews, like all that's kind-gentle-: Bethinkst thou then, bethinkst thou, burning heart, How once thou thirstedest For heaven's kindly teardrops and dew's down-droppings, All singed and weary thirstedest, What time on yellow grass-pathways Wicked, occidental sunny glances Through sombre trees about thee sported, Blindingly sunny glow-glances, gladly-hurting?

He- of truth the wooer? Not still, stiff, smooth and cold, Become an image, A godlike statue, Set up in front of temples, As a God's own door-guard: Nay! hostile to all such truthfulness-statues, In every desert homelier than at temples, With cattish wantonness, Through every window leaping Quickly into chances, Every wild forest a-sniffing, Greedily-longingly, sniffing, That thou, in wild forests, 'Mong the motley-speckled fierce creatures, Shouldest rove, sinful-sound and fine-coloured, With longing lips smacking, Blessedly mocking, blessedly hellish, blessedly blood-thirsty, Robbing, skulking, lying- roving:-

Or unto eagles like which fixedly, Long adown the precipice look, Adown their precipice:- - Oh, how they whirl down now, Thereunder, therein, To ever deeper profoundness whirling!- Then, Sudden, With aim aright, With quivering flight, On lambkins pouncing, Headlong down, sore-hungry, For lambkins longing, Fierce 'gainst all lamb-spirits, Furious-fierce all that look Sheeplike, or lambeyed, or crisp-woolly, -Grey, with lambsheep kindliness!

Even thus, Eaglelike, pantherlike, Are the poet's desires, Are thine own desires 'neath a thousand guises. Thou fool! Thou poet! Thou who all mankind viewedst- So God, as sheep-: The God to rend within mankind, As the sheep in mankind, And in rending laughing-

That, that is thine own blessedness! Of a panther and eagle- blessedness! Of a poet and fool- the blessedness!- -

In evening's limpid air, What time the moon's sickle, Green, 'twixt the purple-glowings, And jealous, steal'th forth: -Of day the foe, With every step in secret, The rosy garland-hammocks Downsickling, till they've sunken Down nightwards, faded, downsunken:-

Thus had I sunken one day From mine own truth-insanity, From mine own fervid day-longings, Of day aweary, sick of sunshine, -Sunk downwards, evenwards, shadowwards: By one sole trueness All scorched and thirsty: -Bethinkst thou still, bethinkst thou, burning heart, How then thou thirstedest?- That I should banned be From all the trueness! Mere fool! Mere poet! 75. Science

THUS sang the magician; and all who were present went like birdsunawares into the net of his artful and melancholy voluptuousness.Only the spiritually conscientious one had not been caught: he at oncesnatched the harp from the magician and called out: "Air! Let ingood air! Let in Zarathustra! Thou makest this cave sultry andpoisonous, thou bad old magician! Thou seducest, thou false one, thou subtle one, to unknown desiresand deserts. And alas, that such as thou should talk and make adoabout the truth! Alas, to all free spirits who are not on their guard against suchmagicians! It is all over with their freedom: thou teachest andtemptest back into prisons,- -Thou old melancholy devil, out of thy lament soundeth a lurement:thou resemblest those who with their praise of chastity secretlyinvite to voluptuousness! Thus spake the conscientious one; the old magician, however,looked about him, enjoying his triumph, and on that account put upwith the annoyance which the conscientious one caused him. "Be still!"said he with modest voice, "good songs want to re-echo well; aftergood songs one should be long silent. Thus do all those present, the higher men. Thou, however, hastperhaps understood but little of my song? In thee there is little ofthe magic spirit. "Thou praisest me," replied the conscientious one, "in that thouseparatest me from thyself; very well! But, ye others, what do Isee? Ye still sit there, all of you, with lusting eyes-: Ye free spirits, whither hath your freedom gone! Ye almost seem tome to resemble those who have long looked at bad girls dancingnaked: your souls themselves dance! In you, ye higher men, there must be more of that which the magiciancalleth his evil spirit of magic and deceit:- we must indeed bedifferent. And verily, we spake and thought long enough together ere.Zarathustra came home to his cave, for me not to be unaware that weare different. We seek different things even here aloft, ye and I. For I seekmore security; on that account have I come to Zarathustra. For he isstill the most steadfast tower and will- -Today, when everything tottereth, when all the earth quaketh. Ye,however, when I see what eyes ye make, it almost seemeth to me that yeseek more insecurity, -More horror, more danger, more earthquake. Ye long (it almostseemeth so to me- forgive my presumption, ye higher men)- -Ye long for the worst and dangerousest life, which frighteneth memost,- for the life of wild beasts, for forests, caves, steepmountains and labyrinthine gorges. And it is not those who lead out of danger that please you best, butthose who lead you away from all paths, the misleaders. But if suchlonging in you be actual, it seemeth to me nevertheless to beimpossible. For fear- that is man's original and fundamental feeling; throughfear everything is explained, original sin and original virtue.Through fear there grew also my virtue, that is to say: Science. For fear of wild animals- that hath been longest fostered in man,inclusive of the animal which he concealeth and feareth in himself:-Zarathustra calleth it 'the beast inside.' Such prolonged ancient fear, at last become subtle, spiritual andintellectual- at present, me thinketh, it is called Science."- Thus spake the conscientious one; but Zarathustra, who had just comeback into his cave and had heard and divined the last discourse, threwa handful of roses to the conscientious one, and laughed on account ofhis "truths." "Why!" he exclaimed, "what did I hear just now?Verily, it seemeth to me, thou art a fool, or else I myself am one:and quietly and quickly will I Put thy 'truth' upside down. For fear- is an exception with us. Courage, however, andadventure, and delight in the uncertain, in the unattempted- courageseemeth to me the entire primitive history of man. The wildest and most courageous animals hath he envied and robbed ofall their virtues: thus only did he become- man. This courage, at last become subtle, spiritual and intellectual,this human courage, with eagle's pinions and serpent's wisdom: this,it seemeth to me, is called at present-" "Zarathustra!" cried all of them there assembled, as if with onevoice, and burst out at the same time into a great laughter; therearose, however, from them as it were a heavy cloud. Even themagician laughed, and said wisely: "Well! It is gone, mine evilspirit! And did I not myself warn you against it when I said that it was adeceiver, a lying and deceiving spirit? Especially when it showeth itself naked. But what can I do withregard to its tricks! Have I created it and the world? Well! Let us be good again, and of good cheer! And althoughZarathustra looketh with evil eye- just see him! he disliketh me-: -Ere night cometh will he again learn to love and laud me; he cannotlive long without committing such follies. He- loveth his enemies: this art knoweth he better than any one Ihave seen. But he taketh revenge for it- on his friends!" Thus spake the old magician, and the higher men applauded him; sothat Zarathustra went round, and mischievously and lovingly shookhands with his friends,- like one who hath to make amends andapologise to every one for something. When however he had thereby cometo the door of his cave, lo, then had he again a longing for thegood air outside, and for his animals,- and wished to steal out. 76. Among Daughters of the Desert

1.

"GO NOT away!" said then the wanderer who called himselfZarathustra's shadow, "abide with us- otherwise the old gloomyaffliction might again fall upon us. Now hath that old magician given us of his worst for our good, andlo! the good, pious pope there hath tears in his eyes, and hathquite embarked again upon the sea of melancholy. Those kings may well put on a good air before us still: for thathave they learned best of us all at present! Had they however no oneto see them, I wager that with them also the bad game would againcommence,- -The bad game of drifting clouds, of damp melancholy, of curtainedheavens, of stolen suns, of howling autumn-winds, -The bad game of our howling and crying for help! Abide with us, OZarathustra! Here there is much concealed misery that wisheth tospeak, much evening, much cloud, much damp air! Thou hast nourished us with strong food for men, and powerfulproverbs: do not let the weakly, womanly spirits attack us anew atdessert! Thou alone makest the air around thee strong and clear. Did I everfind anywhere on earth such good air as with thee in thy cave? Many lands have I seen, my nose hath learned to test and estimatemany kinds of air: but with thee do my nostrils taste their greatestdelight! Unless it be,- unless it be-, do forgive an old recollection!Forgive me an old after-dinner song, which I once composed amongstdaughters of the desert:- For with them was there equally good, clear, Oriental air; there wasI furthest from cloudy, damp, melancholy Old-Europe! Then did I love such Oriental maidens and other blue kingdoms ofheaven, over which hang no clouds and no thoughts. Ye would not believe how charmingly they sat there, when they didnot dance, profound, but without thoughts, like little secrets, likeberibboned riddles, like dessert-nuts- Many-hued and foreign, forsooth! but without clouds: riddles whichcan be guessed: to please such maidens I then composed an after-dinnerpsalm." Thus spake the wanderer who called himself Zarathustra's shadow; andbefore any one answered him, he had seized the harp of the oldmagician, crossed his legs, and looked calmly and sagely aroundhim:- with his nostrils, however, he inhaled the air slowly andquestioningly, like one who in new countries tasteth new foreignair. Afterward he began to sing with a kind of roaring.

2.

The deserts grow: woe him who doth them hide!

-Ha! Solemnly! In effect solemnly! A worthy beginning! Afric manner, solemnly! Of a lion worthy, Or perhaps of a virtuous howl-monkey- -But it's naught to you, Ye friendly damsels dearly loved, At whose own feet to me, The first occasion, To a European under palm-trees, At seat is now granted. Selah.

Wonderful, truly! Here do I sit now, The desert nigh, and yet I am So far still from the desert, Even in naught yet deserted: That is, I'm swallowed down By this the smallest oasis-: -It opened up just yawning, Its loveliest mouth agape, Most sweet-odoured of all mouthlets: Then fell I right in, Right down, right through- in 'mong you, Ye friendly damsels dearly loved! Selah.

Hail! hail! to that whale, fishlike, If it thus for its guest's convenience Made things nice!- (ye well know, Surely, my learned allusion?) Hail to its belly, If it had e'er A such loveliest oasis-belly As this is: though however I doubt about it, -With this come I out of Old-Europe, That doubt'th more eagerly than doth any Elderly married woman. May the Lord improve it! Amen!

Here do I sit now, In this the smallest oasis, Like a date indeed, Brown, quite sweet, gold-suppurating, For rounded mouth of maiden longing, But yet still more for youthful, maidlike, Ice-cold and snow-white and incisory Front teeth: and for such assuredly, Pine the hearts all of ardent date-fruits. Selah.

To the there-named south-fruits now, Similar, all-too-similar, Do I lie here; by little Flying insects Round-sniffled and round-played, And also by yet littler, Foolisher, and peccabler Wishes and phantasies,- Environed by you, Ye silent, presentientest Maiden-kittens, Dudu and Suleika, -Round sphinxed, that into one word I may crowd much feeling: (Forgive me, O God, All such speech-sinning!) -Sit I here the best of air sniffling, Paradisal air, truly, Bright and buoyant air, golden-mottled, As goodly air as ever From lunar orb downfell- Be it by hazard, Or supervened it by arrogancy? As the ancient poets relate it. But doubter, I'm now calling it In question: with this do I come indeed Out of Europe, That doubt'th more eagerly than doth any Elderly married woman. May the Lord improve it! Amen.

This the finest air drinking, With nostrils out-swelled like goblets, Lacking future, lacking remembrances, Thus do I sit here, ye Friendly damsels dearly loved, And look at the palm-tree there, How it, to a dance-girl, like, Doth bow and bend and on its haunches bob, -One doth it too, when one view'th it long!- To a dance-girl like, who as it seem'th to me, Too long, and dangerously persistent, Always, always, just on single leg hath stood? -Then forgot she thereby, as it seem'th to me, The other leg? For vainly I, at least, Did search for the amissing Fellow-jewel -Namely, the other leg- In the sanctified precincts, Nigh her very dearest, very tenderest, Flapping and fluttering and flickering skirting. Yea, if ye should, ye beauteous friendly ones, Quite take my word: She hath, alas! lost it! Hu! Hu! Hu! Hu! Hu! It is away! For ever away! The other leg! Oh, pity for that loveliest other leg! Where may it now tarry, all-forsaken weeping? The lonesomest leg? In fear perhaps before a Furious, yellow, blond and curled Leonine monster? Or perhaps even Gnawed away, nibbled badly- Most wretched, woeful! woeful! nibbled badly! Selah.

Oh, weep ye not, Gentle spirits! Weep ye not, ye Date-fruit spirits! Milk-bosoms! Ye sweetwood-heart Purselets! Weep ye no more, Pallid Dudu! Be a man, Suleika! Bold! Bold! -Or else should there perhaps Something strengthening, heart-strengthening, Here most proper be? Some inspiring text? Some solemn exhortation?- Ha! Up now! honour! Moral honour! European honour! Blow again, continue, Bellows-box of virtue! Ha! Once more thy roaring, Thy moral roaring! As a virtuous lion Nigh the daughters of deserts roaring! -For virtue's out-howl, Ye very dearest maidens, Is more than every European fervour, European hot-hunger! And now do I stand here, As European, I can't be different, God's help to me! Amen!

The deserts grow: woe him who doth them hide! 77. The Awakening

1.

AFTER the song of the wanderer and shadow, the cave became all atonce full of noise and laughter: and since the assembled guests allspake simultaneously, and even the ass, encouraged thereby, nolonger remained silent, a little aversion and scorn for his visitorscame over Zarathustra, although he rejoiced at their gladness. Forit seemed to him a sign of convalescence. So he slipped out into theopen air and spake to his animals. "Whither hath their distress now gone?" said he, and already didhe himself feel relieved of his petty disgust- "with me, it seemeththat they have unlearned their cries of distress! -Though, alas! not yet their crying." And Zarathustra stopped hisears, for just then did the YE-A of the ass mix strangely with thenoisy jubilation of those higher men. "They are merry," he began again, "and who knoweth? perhaps attheir host's expense; and if they have learned of me to laugh, stillit is not my laughter they have learned. But what matter about that! They are old people: they recover intheir own way, they laugh in their own way; mine ears have alreadyendured worse and have not become peevish. This day is a victory: he already yieldeth, he fleeth, the spirit ofgravity, mine old arch-enemy! How well this day is about to end, whichbegan so badly and gloomily! And it is about to end. Already cometh the evening: over the searideth it hither, the good rider! How it bobbeth, the blessed one, thehome-returning one, in its purple saddles! The sky gazeth brightly thereon, the world lieth deep. Oh, all yestrange ones who have come to me, it is already worth while to havelived with me!"

Thus spake Zarathustra. And again came the cries and laughter of thehigher men out of the cave: then began he anew: "They bite at it, my bait taketh, there departeth also from themtheir enemy, the spirit of gravity. Now do they learn to laugh atthemselves: do I hear rightly? My virile food taketh effect, my strong and savoury sayings: andverily, I did not nourish them with flatulent vegetables! But withwarrior-food, with conqueror-food: new desires did I awaken. New hopes are in their arms and legs, their hearts expand. They findnew words, soon will their spirits breathe wantonness. Such food may sure enough not be proper for children, nor even forlonging girls old and young. One persuadeth their bowels otherwise;I am not their physician and teacher. The disgust departeth from these higher men; well! that is myvictory. In my domain they become assured; all stupid shame fleethaway; they empty themselves. They empty their hearts, good times return unto them, they keepholiday and ruminate,- they become thankful. That do I take as the best sign: they become thankful. Not long willit be ere they devise festivals, and put up memorials to their oldjoys. They are convalescents!" Thus spake Zarathustra joyfully to hisheart and gazed outward; his animals, however, pressed up to him,and honoured his happiness and his silence.

2.

All on a sudden however, Zarathustra's ear was frightened: for thecave which had hitherto been full of noise and laughter, became all atonce still as death;- his nose, however, smelt a sweet-scentedvapour and incense-odour, as if from burning pine-cones. "What happeneth? What are they about?" he asked himself, and stoleup to the entrance, that he might be able unobserved to see hisguests. But wonder upon wonder! what was he then obliged to beholdwith his own eyes! "They have all of them become pious again, they pray, they aremad!"- said he, and was astonished beyond measure. And forsooth! allthese higher men, the two kings, the pope out of service, the evilmagician, the voluntary beggar, the wanderer and shadow, the oldsoothsayer, the spiritually conscientious one, and the ugliest man-they all lay on their knees like children and credulous old women, andworshipped the ass. And just then began the ugliest man to gurgleand snort, as if something unutterable in him tried to findexpression; when, however, he had actually found words, behold! it wasa pious, strange litany in praise of the adored and censed ass. Andthe litany sounded thus:

Amen! And glory and honour and wisdom and thanks and praise andstrength be to our God, from everlasting to everlasting! -The ass, however, here brayed YE-A. He carried our burdens, he hath taken upon him the form of aservant, he is patient of heart and never saith Nay; and he who lovethhis God chastiseth him. -The ass, however, here brayed YE-A. He speaketh not: except that he ever saith Yea to the world which hecreated: thus doth he extol his world. It is his artfulness thatspeaketh not: thus is he rarely found wrong. -The ass, however, here brayed YE-A. Uncomely goeth he through the world. Grey is the favourite colour inwhich he wrappeth his virtue. Hath he spirit, then doth he conceal it;every one, however, believeth in his long ears. -The ass, however, here brayed YE-A. What hidden wisdom it is to wear long ears, and only to say Yeaand never Nay! Hath he not created the world in his own image, namely,as stupid as possible? -The ass, however, here brayed YE-A. Thou goest straight and crooked ways; it concerneth thee little whatseemeth straight or crooked unto us men. Beyond good and evil is thydomain. It is thine innocence not to know what innocence is. -The ass, however, here brayed YE-A. Lo! how thou spurnest none from thee, neither beggars nor kings.Thou sufferest little children to come unto thee, and when the badboys decoy thee, then sayest thou simply, YE-A. -The ass, however, here brayed YE-A. Thou lovest she-asses and fresh figs, thou art no food-despiser. Athistle tickleth thy heart when thou chancest to be hungry. There isthe wisdom of a God therein. -The ass, however, here brayed YE-A. 78. The Ass-Festival

1.

AT THIS place in the litany, however, Zarathustra could no longercontrol himself; he himself cried out YE-A, louder even than theass, and sprang into the midst of his maddened guests. "Whatever areyou about, ye grown-up children?" he exclaimed, pulling up the prayingones from the ground. "Alas, if any one else, except Zarathustra,had seen you: Every one would think you the worst blasphemers, or the veryfoolishest old women, with your new belief! And thou thyself, thou old pope, how is it in accordance withthee, to adore an ass in such a manner as God?"- "O Zarathustra," answered the pope, "forgive me, but in divinematters I am more enlightened even than thou. And it is right thatit should be so. Better to adore God so, in this form, than in no form at all!Think over this saying, mine exalted friend: thou wilt readilydivine that in such a saying there is wisdom. He who said 'God is a Spirit'- made the greatest stride and slidehitherto made on earth towards unbelief: such a dictum is not easilyamended again on earth! Mine old heart leapeth and boundeth because there is still somethingto adore on earth. Forgive it, O Zarathustra, to an old, piouspontiff-heart!-" -"And thou," said Zarathustra to the wanderer and shadow, "thoucallest and thinkest thyself a free spirit? And thou here practisestsuch idolatry and hierolatry? Worse verily, doest thou here than with thy bad brown girls, thoubad, new believer!" "It is sad enough," answered the wanderer and shadow, "thou artright: but how can I help it! The old God liveth again, O Zarathustra,thou mayst say what thou wilt. The ugliest man is to blame for it all: he hath reawakened him.And if he say that he once killed him, with Gods death is alwaysjust a prejudice." -"And thou," said Zarathustra, "thou bad old magician, what didstthou do! Who ought to believe any longer in thee in this free age,when thou believest in such divine donkeyism? It was a stupid thing that thou didst; how couldst thou, a shrewdman, do such a stupid thing!" "O Zarathustra," answered the shrewd magician, "thou art right, itwas a stupid thing,- it was also repugnant to me." -"And thou even," said Zarathustra to the spirituallyconscientious one, "consider, and put thy finger to thy nose! Dothnothing go against thy conscience here? Is thy spirit not toocleanly for this praying and the fumes of those devotees?" "There is something therein," said the spiritually conscientiousone, and put his finger to his nose, "there is something in thisspectacle which even doeth good to my conscience. Perhaps I dare not believe in God: certain it is however, that Godseemeth to me most worthy of belief in this form. God is said to be eternal, according to the testimony of the mostpious: he who hath so much time taketh his time. As slow and as stupidas possible: thereby can such a one nevertheless go very far. And he who hath too much spirit might well become infatuated withstupidity and folly. Think of thyself, O Zarathustra! Thou thyself- verily! even thou couldst well become an ass throughsuperabundance of wisdom. Doth not the true sage willingly walk on the crookedest paths? Theevidence teacheth it, O Zarathustra,- thine own evidence!" -"And thou thyself, finally," said Zarathustra, and turned towardsthe ugliest man, who still lay on the ground stretching up his armto the ass (for he gave it wine to drink). "Say, thou nondescript,what hast thou been about! Thou seemest to me transformed, thine eyes glow, the mantle of thesublime covereth thine ugliness: what didst thou do? Is it then true what they say, that thou hast again awakened him?And why? Was he not for good reasons killed and made away with? Thou thyself seemest to me awakened: what didst thou do? why didstthou turn round? Why didst thou get converted? Speak, thounondescript!" "O Zarathustra," answered the ugliest man, "thou art a rogue! Whether he yet liveth, or again liveth, or is thoroughly dead- whichof us both knoweth that best? I ask thee. One thing however do I know,- from thyself did I learn it once, OZarathustra: he who wanteth to kill most thoroughly, laugheth. 'Not by wrath but by laughter doth one kill'- thus spakest thouonce, O Zarathustra, thou hidden one, thou destroyer without wrath,thou dangerous saint,- thou art a rogue!"

2.

Then, however, did it come to pass that Zarathustra, astonished atsuch merely roguish answers, jumped back to the door of his cave,and turning towards all his guests, cried out with a strong voice: "O ye wags, all of you, ye buffoons! Why do ye dissemble anddisguise yourselves before me! How the hearts of all of you convulsed with delight andwickedness, because ye had at last become again like littlechildren- namely, pious,- -Because ye at last did again as children do- namely, prayed, foldedyour hands and said 'good God'! But now leave, I pray you, this nursery, mine own cave, wheretoday all childishness is carried on. Cool down, here outside, yourhot child-wantonness and heart-tumult! To be sure: except ye become as little children ye shall not enterinto that kingdom of heaven." (And Zarathustra pointed aloft withhis hands.) "But we do not at all want to enter into the kingdom of heaven: wehave become men,- so we want the kingdom of earth."

3.

And once more began Zarathustra to speak. "O my new friends," saidhe,- "ye strange ones, ye higher men, how well do ye now please me,- -Since ye have again become joyful! Ye have, verily, all blossomedforth: it seemeth to me that for such flowers as you, new festivalsare required. -A little valiant nonsense, some divine service and ass-festival,some old joyful Zarathustra fool, some blusterer to blow your soulsbright. Forget not this night and this ass-festival, ye higher men! That didye devise when with me, that do I take as a good omen,- such thingsonly the convalescents devise! And should ye celebrate it again, this ass-festival, do it from loveto yourselves, do it also from love to me! And in remembrance of me!"

Thus spake Zarathustra. 79. The Drunken Song

1.

MEANWHILE one after another had gone out into the open air, and intothe cool, thoughtful night; Zarathustra himself, however, led theugliest man by the hand, that he might show him his night-world, andthe great round moon, and the silvery water-falls near his cave. Therethey at last stood still beside one another; all of them old people,but with comforted, brave hearts, and astonished in themselves that itwas so well with them on earth; the mystery of the night, however,came nigher and nigher to their hearts. And anew Zarathustra thoughtto himself: "Oh, how well do they now please me, these higher men!"-but he did not say it aloud, for he respected their happiness andtheir silence.- Then, however, there happened that which in this astonishing longday was most astonishing: the ugliest man began once more and forthe last time to gurgle and snort, and when he had at length foundexpression, behold! there sprang a question plump and plain out of hismouth, a good, deep, clear question, which moved the hearts of all wholistened to him. "My friends, all of you," said the ugliest man, "what think ye?For the sake of this day- I am for the first time content to havelived mine entire life. And that I testify so much is still not enough for me. It is worthwhile living on the earth: one day, one festival with Zarathustra,hath taught me to love the earth. 'Was that- life?' will I say unto death. 'Well! Once more!' My friends, what think ye? Will ye not, like me, say unto death:'Was that- life? For the sake of Zarathustra, well! Once more!'"- - Thus spake the ugliest man; it was not, however, far frommidnight. And what took place then, think ye? As soon as the highermen heard his question, they became all at once conscious of theirtransformation and convalescence, and of him who was the causethereof: then did they rush up to Zarathustra, thanking, honouring,caressing him, and kissing his hands, each in his own peculiar way; sothat some laughed and some wept. The old soothsayer, however, dancedwith delight; and though he was then, as some narrators suppose,full of sweet wine, he was certainly still fuller of sweet life, andhad renounced all weariness. There are even those who narrate that theass then danced: for not in vain had the ugliest man previouslygiven it wine to drink. That may be the case, or it may beotherwise; and if in truth the ass did not dance that evening, therenevertheless happened then greater and rarer wonders than thedancing of an ass would have been. In short, as the proverb ofZarathustra saith: "What doth it matter!"

2.

When, however, this took place with the ugliest man, Zarathustrastood there like one drunken: his glance dulled, his tongue falteredand his feet staggered. And who could divine what thoughts then passedthrough Zarathustra's soul? Apparently, however, his spiritretreated and fled in advance and was in remote distances, and as itwere "wandering on high mountain-ridges," as it standeth written,"'twixt two seas, -Wandering 'twixt the past and the future as a heavy cloud."Gradually, however, while the higher men held him in their arms, hecame back to himself a little, and resisted with his hands the crowdof the honouring and caring ones; but he did not speak. All at once,however, he turned his head quickly, for he seemed to hearsomething: then laid he his finger on his mouth and said: "Come!" And immediately it became still and mysterious round about; from thedepth however there came up slowly the sound of a clock-bell.Zarathustra listened thereto, like the higher men; then, however, laidhe his finger on his mouth the second time, and said again: "Come!Come! It is getting on to midnight!"- and his voice had changed. Butstill he had not moved from the spot. Then it became yet stiller andmore mysterious, and everything hearkened, even the ass, andZarathustra's noble animals, the eagle and the serpent,- likewisethe cave of Zarathustra and the big cool moon, and the night itself.Zarathustra, however, laid his hand upon his mouth for the third time,and said: Come! Come! Come! Let us now wander! It is the hour: let us wanderinto the night!

3.

Ye higher men, it is getting on to midnight: then will I saysomething into your ears, as that old clock-bell saith it into mineear,- -As mysteriously, as frightfully, and as cordially as thatmidnight clock-bell speaketh it to me, which hath experienced morethan one man: -Which hath already counted the smarting throbbings of your fathers'hearts- ah! ah! how it sigheth! how it laugheth in its dream! the old,deep, deep midnight! Hush! Hush! Then is there many a thing heard which may not beheard by day; now however, in the cool air, when even all the tumultof your hearts hath become still,- -Now doth it speak, now is it heard, now doth it steal intooverwakeful, nocturnal souls: ah! ah! how the midnight sigheth! how itlaugheth in its dream! -Hearest thou not how it mysteriously, frightfully, and cordiallyspeaketh unto thee, the old deep, deep midnight? O man, take heed!

4.

Woe to me! Whither hath time gone? Have I not sunk into deepwells? The world sleepeth- Ah! Ah! The dog howleth, the moon shineth. Rather will I die, ratherwill I die, than say unto you what my midnight-heart now thinketh. Already have I died. It is all over. Spider, why spinnest thouaround me? Wilt thou have blood? Ah! Ah! The dew falleth, the hourcometh- -The hour in which I frost and freeze, which asketh and asketh andasketh: "Who hath sufficient courage for it? -Who is to be master of the world? Who is going to say: Thus shallye flow, ye great and small streams!" -The hour approacheth: O man, thou higher man, take heed! thistalk is for fine ears, for thine ears- what saith deep midnight'svoice indeed?

5.

It carrieth me away, my soul danceth. Day's-work! Day's-work! Who isto be master of the world? The moon is cool, the wind is still. Ah! Ah! Have ye already flownhigh enough? Ye have danced: a leg, nevertheless, is not a wing. Ye good dancers, now is all delight over: wine hath become lees,every cup hath become brittle, the sepulchres mutter. Ye have not flown high enough: now do the sepulchres mutter: "Freethe dead! Why is it so long night? Doth not the moon make us drunken?" Ye higher men, free the sepulchres, awaken the corpses! Ah, why doththe worm still burrow? There approacheth, there approacheth, thehour,- -There boometh the clock-bell, there thrilleth still the heart,there burroweth still the wood-worm, the heart-worm. Ah! Ah! The worldis deep!

6.

Sweet lyre! Sweet lyre! I love thy tone, thy drunken, ranunculinetone!- how long, how far hath come unto me thy tone, from thedistance, from the ponds of love! Thou old clock-bell, thou sweet lyre! Every pain hath torn thyheart, father-pain, fathers'-pain, forefathers'-pain; thy speechhath become ripe,- -Ripe like the golden autumn and the afternoon, like mineanchorite heart- now sayest thou: The world itself hath become ripe,the grape turneth brown, -Now doth it wish to die, to die of happiness. Ye higher men, doye not feel it? There welleth up mysteriously an odour, -A perfume and odour of eternity, a rosy-blessed, brown,gold-wine-odour of old happiness. -Of drunken midnight-death happiness, which singeth: the world isdeep, and deeper than the day could read!

7.

Leave me alone! Leave me alone! I am too pure for thee. Touch menot! Hath not my world just now become perfect? My skin is too pure for thy hands. Leave me alone, thou dull,doltish, stupid day! Is not the midnight brighter? The purest are to be masters of the world, the least known, thestrongest, the midnight-souls, who are brighter and deeper than anyday. O day, thou gropest for me? Thou feelest for my happiness? Forthee am I rich, lonesome, a treasure-pit, a gold chamber? O world, thou wantest me? Am I worldly for thee? Am I spiritualfor thee? Am I divine for thee? But day and world, ye are too coarse,- -Have cleverer hands, grasp after deeper happiness, after deeperunhappiness, grasp after some God; grasp not after me: -Mine unhappiness, my happiness is deep, thou strange day, but yetam I no God, no God's-hell: deep is its woe.

8.

God's woe is deeper, thou strange world! Grasp at God's woe, notat me! What am I! A drunken sweet lyre,- -A midnight-lyre, a bell-frog, which no one understandeth, but whichmust speak before deaf ones, ye higher men! For ye do not understandme! Gone! Gone! O youth! O noontide! O afternoon! Now have comeevening and night and midnight,- the dog howleth, the wind: -Is the wind not a dog? It whineth, it barketh, it howleth. Ah!Ah! how she sigheth! how she laugheth, how she wheezeth and panteth,the midnight! How she just now speaketh soberly, this drunken poetess! hath sheperhaps overdrunk her drunkenness? hath she become overawake? doth sheruminate? -Her woe doth she ruminate over, in a dream, the old, deep midnight-and still more her joy. For joy, although woe be deep, joy is deeperstill than grief can be.

Ye higher men, what think ye? Am I a soothsayer? Or a dreamer? Ora drunkard? Or a dream-reader? Or a midnight-bell? Or a drop of dew? Or a fume and fragrance of eternity? Hear ye itnot? Smell ye it not? Just now hath my world become perfect,midnight is also mid-day,- Pain is also a joy, curse is also a blessing, night is also asun,- go away! or ye will learn that a sage is also a fool. Said ye ever Yea to one joy? O my friends, then said ye Yea alsounto all woe. All things are enlinked, enlaced and enamoured,- -Wanted ye ever once to come twice; said ye ever: "Thou pleasest me,happiness! Instant! Moment!" then wanted ye all to come back again! -All anew, all eternal, all enlinked, enlaced and enamoured, Oh,then did ye love the world,- -Ye eternal ones, ye love it eternally and for all time: and alsounto woe do ye say: Hence! Go! but come back! For joys all want-eternity!

11.

All joy wanteth the eternity of all things, it wanteth honey, itwanteth lees, it wanteth drunken midnight, it wanteth graves, itwanteth grave-tears' consolation, it wanteth gilded evening-red- -What doth not joy want! it is thirstier, heartier, hungrier, morefrightful, more mysterious, than all woe: it wanteth itself, it bitethinto itself, the ring's will writheth in it,- -It wanteth love, it wanteth hate, it is over-rich, it bestoweth, itthroweth away, it beggeth for some one to take from it, it thankeththe taker, it would fain be hated,- -So rich is joy that it thirsteth for woe, for hell, for hate, forshame, for the lame, for the world,- for this world, Oh, ye know itindeed! Ye higher men, for you doth it long, this joy, this irrepressible,blessed joy- for your woe, ye failures! For failures, longeth alleternal joy. For joys all want themselves, therefore do they also want grief! Ohappiness, O pain! Oh break, thou heart! Ye higher men, do learn it,that joys want eternity. -Joys want the eternity of all things, they want deep, profoundeternity!

12.

Have ye now learned my song? Have ye divined what it would say?Well! Cheer up! Ye higher men, sing now my roundelay! Sing now yourselves the song, the name of which is "Once more,"the signification of which is "Unto all eternity!"- sing, ye highermen, Zarathustra's roundelay!

IN THE morning, however, after this night, Zarathustra jumped upfrom his couch, and, having girded his loins, he came out of hiscave glowing and strong, like a morning sun coming out of gloomymountains. "Thou great star," spake he, as he had spoken once before, "thoudeep eye of happiness, what would be all thy happiness if thou hadstnot those for whom thou shinest! And if they remained in their chambers whilst thou art alreadyawake, and comest and bestowest and distributest, how would thyproud modesty upbraid for it! Well! they still sleep, these higher men, whilst I am awake: theyare not my proper companions! Not for them do I wait here in mymountains. At my work I want to be, at my day: but they understand not what arethe signs of my morning, my step- is not for them the awakening-call. They still sleep in my cave; their dream still drinketh at mydrunken songs. The audient ear for me- the obedient ear, is yetlacking in their limbs." -This had Zarathustra spoken to his heart when the sun arose: thenlooked he inquiringly aloft, for he heard above him the sharp callof his eagle. "Well!" called he upwards, "thus is it pleasing andproper to me. Mine animals are awake, for I am awake. Mine eagle is awake, and like me honoureth the sun. Witheagle-talons doth it grasp at the new light. Ye are my proper animals;I love you. But still do I lack my proper men!"-

Thus spake Zarathustra; then, however, it happened that all on asudden he became aware that he was flocked around and flutteredaround, as if by innumerable birds,- the whizzing of so many wings,however, and the crowding around his head was so great that he shuthis eyes. And verily, there came down upon him as it were a cloud,like a cloud of arrows which poureth upon a new enemy. But behold,here it was a cloud of love, and showered upon a new friend. "What happeneth unto me?" thought Zarathustra in his astonishedheart, and slowly seated himself on the big stone which lay close tothe exit from his cave. But while he grasped about with his hands,around him, above him and below him, and repelled the tender birds,behold, there then happened to him something still stranger: for hegrasped thereby unawares into a mass of thick, warm, shaggy hair; atthe same time, however, there sounded before him a roar,- a long, softlion-roar. "The sign cometh," said Zarathustra, and a change came over hisheart. And in truth, when it turned clear before him, there lay ayellow, powerful animal at his feet, resting its head on his knee,-unwilling to leave him out of love, and doing like a dog which againfindeth its old master. The doves, however, were no less eager withtheir love than the lion; and whenever a dove whisked over its nose,the lion shook its head and wondered and laughed. When all this went on Zarathustra spake only a word: "My childrenare nigh, my children"-, then he became quite mute. His heart,however, was loosed, and from his eyes there dropped down tears andfell upon his hands. And he took no further notice of anything, butsat there motionless, without repelling the animals further. Then flewthe doves to and fro, and perched on his shoulder, and caressed hiswhite hair, and did not tire of their tenderness and joyousness. Thestrong lion, however, licked always the tears that fell onZarathustra's hands, and roared and growled shyly. Thus did theseanimals do.- All this went on for a long time, or a short time: for properlyspeaking, there is no time on earth for such things-. Meanwhile,however, the higher men had awakened in Zarathustra's cave, andmarshalled themselves for a procession to go to meet Zarathustra,and give him their morning greeting: for they had found when theyawakened that he no longer tarried with them. When, however, theyreached the door of the cave and the noise of their steps had precededthem, the lion started violently; it turned away all at once fromZarathustra, and roaring wildly, sprang towards the cave. The highermen, however, when they heard the lion roaring, cried all aloud aswith one voice, fled back and vanished in an instant. Zarathustra himself, however, stunned and strange, rose from hisseat, looked around him, stood there astonished, inquired of hisheart, bethought himself, and remained alone. "What did I hear?"said he at last, slowly, "what happened unto me just now?" But soon there came to him his recollection, and he took in at aglance all that had taken place between yesterday and to-day. "Here isindeed the stone," said he, and stroked his beard, "on it sat Iyester-morn; and here came the soothsayer unto me, and here heard Ifirst the cry which I heard just now, the great cry of distress. O ye higher men, your distress was it that the old soothsayerforetold to me yester-morn,- -Unto your distress did he want to seduce and tempt me: 'OZarathustra,' said he to me, 'I come to seduce thee to thy last sin.' To my last sin?" cried Zarathustra, and laughed angrily at his ownwords: "what hath been reserved for me as my last sin?" -And once more Zarathustra became absorbed in himself, and satdown again on the big stone and meditated. Suddenly he sprang up,- "Fellow-suffering! Fellow-suffering with the higher men!" he criedout, and his countenance changed into brass. "Well! That- hath had itstime! My suffering and my fellow-suffering- what matter about them! Do Ithen strive after happiness? I strive after my work! Well! The lion hath come, my children are nigh, Zarathustra hathgrown ripe, mine hour hath come:- This is my morning, my day beginneth: arise now, arise, thou greatnoontide!"- -

Thus spake Zarathustra and left his cave, glowing and strong, like amorning sun coming out of gloomy mountains.